Properties of the Force
by Voodoogator
Summary: (OC!)As the Clone Wars rage, one clone-troopers fate reflects the struggle that threatens to tear the galaxy apart. For CT-3033 has a frightening secret. One that could expose the darkness devouring the Republic... & the Jedi Order. Forcing them to face the questions posed by his very existence: Are clones Property of the Republic? or, Properties of the Force?(&Novella:'Oni's Log')
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

**Standing** in the dusty arena on Geonosis, Master Thain Dural gazed above the audience stands, into the burning Geonosis sun. He coughed roughly. Not only because of the dust being kicked up by the barren planet's winds, but also the smell of the dead. Seemingly unaffected by the breeze, it hung low to the ground. As if refusing to abandon the corpses that created them, the stench kept watch over the bodies, in defiance of the spirits that had already left them. It wasn't just the smell he was trying to avoid. It was the sight of so many dead Jedi that he really couldn't take any longer.

They lay strewn about everywhere, intermingled with the smashed remains of the very droids that had slain them. The chaos of it was almost too much to believe, even though he had seen it all for himself, first hand. Forcing himself to face reality until his mind excepted it, the Jedi dropped his eyes again to study the carnage surrounding him.

Off in the distance, he could hear that the fight went on.

But he remained.

With a hard blink to clear his vision, he finally let his sight fall upon the body that lay at his feet. Cold and covered with blaster burns, the sightless eyes of his apprentice stared right through him.

"You should never have been here," he softly admitted to her, to himself. "_I _should have not brought her here."

Reaching down, he delicately closed his padawan's accusing eyes. At least, they seemed to accuse him every time he looked at her once lovely, violet-skinned, now blistered and scarred face. Emotion almost overcame him. With great effort, he recited part of the Jedi Code... "There is no emotion, there is only peace."

The words of ancient wisdom now sounded hollow and trite to his ears.

Since peace would not find him in this place of death, he settled on a less comforting ideal... despair.

Taking his dead padawans broken lightsaber into his hand, the Jedi Master swore an ominous oath over her young, lifeless body...

"I will _never_ train another."

…...

**'Properties of the Force'**

by: 'voodoogator'

**Chapter1**

**Different**.. A-typical…Non-uniform…

...Unacceptable.

CT-3033 knew he was different.

He didn't know _why_ he was different, or _what _ was different about him, he just knew that he was _not_ the same as his brothers.. any of them. Each time, the realization sent cold shivers running up his spine. Because the one thing he _did_ know about being different was, that 'different' was _bad_.

Dubbed 'Trey' by his pod-brothers, CT-3033 was a clone. Born in gestation tanks on the rainy planet of Kamino, he and the others like him lived an assembly-line existence. Meals, sleep, and training all carefully scheduled and monitored by the Kaminoans who ran the facility that was his whole world. Under their piercing, intolerant gaze, every aspect of the clones' physical and mental traits were scrutinized to ensure adherence to the Clonemasters' very exacting standards.

Clones lived in constant fear being found 'defective' by the Kaminoan technicians. Units that failed meet up to the Clonemasters strict standards of conformity were taken away from their brothers to be 'reconditioned'. The few who returned were never the same. And none of those ever lasted very long in the fast-paced and deadly training that was the everyday existence for troopers produced to be the very _best_ soldiers to ever put on battle armor.

Besides the grey-skinned aliens who oversaw their manufacture, the only other beings the clones had contact with were their Mandalorian instructors…hard, often abusive men and women. Mostly human, with a few exceptions, who drilled the clones in the arts of war and survival.

Although some were rumored to have soft-spots for favored pupils, on the whole, these warriors were no more compassionate or forgiving of failure than the beings they worked for.

So Trey kept his concerns to himself. But always there was the fear.

That his non-conformities would be discovered. That they would come for him one night, and his squadmates would awaken the next training cycle to find CT-3033's cot empty. His fear was for them, as well. If he was found to be too non-regulative, his entire pod could be taken away. For their sakes, more than for his own, he would remain silent... and try his best to perform up to specs.

Or rather, _down_ to specs. He hated to think of himself as being 'better' than his brothers.. nor _any _clone for that matter...but he was.

Aside from the specially-enhanced ARCs, and of course, the downright unruly Null-ARCs... who reigned havoc across the entire facility; every clone was his brothers' equal.

To think of another clone as being 'less' than him filled him with disgust... and doubt.

Fear, his instructors had told him, could be useful. All beings felt fear, they'd told him so. It heightened the senses and sharpened the mind. It could be used to push your body long past its normal limits. But, it could also leave you paralyzed in the face of danger. Learning how to properly use your fear was often the key to victory... and survival.

Doubt, however, was a disease of the mind.

Doubt would cause all the negative effects of fear, but without the benefits. Fear could keep you alive, he'd been taught... but doubt could get you killed.

CT-3033 feared his doubts more than anything else. More than death, even more than being found to be 'different'. That was the worst thing about knowing he was not the same as the others... it filled him with doubt.

And those doubts gave further rise to his fears. That should have made it manageable.. he'd been trained to turn fear to his advantage. Instead, his fear thwarted any attempt to bring it into line.. like a untamable Null-ARC, refusing to obey its master.

Laying prone in his bunk, Trey raised up and swung his legs to the cold floor beneath him. The darkened artificial lighting of the berthing area told him it was not yet time to begin the day's training, but he could sleep no more. Standing, he made his way as quietly as possible to the communal refreshers at the end of the row of cots. Reaching the lavs, he turned the valve that released hot, steaming water, and splashed a handful on his face.

Lifting his eyes to the reflective surface above the sink, Trey stood for several moments breathing deeply, trying unsuccessfully to banish the thoughts that plagued him.

Would today be the day they found him out?

He swallowed, finding his mouth suddenly dry. Lifting another dose of water to his face, he sipped the tepid liquid, then splashed the remainder to his face again, running his clawed fingers through the turf of dark hair he, and all his brothers, sported... courtesy of their genetic-donor, Jango Fett. Seeing the exact replica of the Mandalorian warrior before him, Trey wondered if Jango himself had ever felt such fear. Catching his own eye in the mirror, he doubted it.

More doubts.

With a heavy sigh, he walked back to his bunk and lay awake waiting for dawn... fearful of the day ahead.

...


	2. Chapter 2

**_"Wise, accepting command of _****_this mysteriously_****_ created Clone Army, it may not have been..._**

**_ But necessary, at that moment... it was._**

**_ How we, as Jedi, accept the violation of all we believe in by doing so... I know not._**

**_ As lead into war, these cloned-beings, we do..._**

**_ Further into darkness, I fear, we ultimately lead ourselves... and the Force." _**

**_ (- Master Yoda, conversing with an unseen entity ) _**

**Chapt2**

** Blaster** fire sizzled over-head, as the harsh light of recon-flares bathed the battlefield in crimson and amber hues. Deep shadows caused by the glaring blazes danced dizzyingly across the cratered terrain. Muffled booms from detonators vibrated the ground and sent debris cascading down like rain, were underscored by the sharp reports of fired blasters... and accentuated by the agonized screams of fallen soldiers.

Amidst the chaos, Trey sat huddled tightly behind a portion of crumbled wall... using it for cover. The rest of his squad were likewise being pinned down by sniper shots fired from a higher position... courtesy of one of the Mandalorian training sergeants. This particular marksman had a love affair with Verpine shatterguns.

"Bug Guns", Trey'd heard another sergeant say in disgust. "Manufactured by bugs, thats why they break so easy."

Bugs or not, fragile or not, silently-fired death still pinged the ferro-crete behind him any time he tried to advance.

Unable to move forward without covering fire, he signaled for CT-3034... his brother, 'Quay'; to move up and give him the support he required. All he needed was a small window of opportunity, then Trey could finally try getting close enough to the sniper's nest to toss a sim-frag grenade, ending the threat... and the last major obstacle between them, and victory.

With an audible grunt and clattering of armor against the wall hiding them, Quay finally managed to fling himself across the tight alley that separated them... avoiding the projectiles being shot down at him. With his usual excitement, he announced to his teammate that he had, at last, joined the party.

"Never fear, Quay is here!", his pod-mate said over their helm-comm.

Without a word, Trey rested his rifle on his knees, and pointed out to his brother the sniper's location. Then, with his other hand, he signaled his intention to storm the loft and throw a detonator. Replying with an equally-silent 'Thumbs Up', Quay lifting his weapon, a standard-issue DC-15 ,or 'Decee' as it was called, over the rim of their shelter, and began spraying un-aimed bolts towards the distant perch.

When his clip was empty, he dropped back down on his haunches, expecting his squad-mate to have taken advantage of the tactics employed, and be long gone.

Only Trey hadn't moved.

Quay tapped the side of his brothers helmet to get his attention, but his brother didn't seem to acknowledge him at all. "Hey! Yoo-hoo, Coo-koo... Wakey-wakey! Hell-O-oo, ner vod... ?" Quay called playfully over the comm.

'Ner vod'..it was Mando for 'my brother'. Every clone was a brother, a near-identical twin, all produced from the same genetic code.

Inside their cocoon of white plastoid armor, clones were even harder to tell apart than when their identical faces were visible. The Kaminoans used only designation numbers when addressing them, and then only to differentiate between them. The cloners didn't care for how... or even, if.. their creations felt. Only that they performed to specs.

The clones themselves were more attuned to the slight variations in voice and body language that betrayed each others individuality. Spending every waking (and sleeping, and screaming, and sometimes even dying) moment within a clockwork, mirror-world, such as clones did, you quickly got to where you notice the little things.

A few of the drill sergeants could tell them apart, too. It spoke volumes about their attention to detail that any could spot the differences in the sea of commonality they were charged with. Some even knew their clone trainees by their assumed handles. While Trey didn't personally know the Verp-lover currently taking pot-shots at him and his mates very well, he'd heard enough about him to have enough sense not to provide him with an easy target. 'Skirata' he was called, though it was said his favorite trainees, the Nulls, referred to him as "Papa-Kal".

Trey wondered at the fatherly qualities of the man trying to kill him. "Must be what they call 'tough love'," he mused silently.

Again, his squad-mate tried to get his attention. "Hey, Trey! What's the matter with you? You've been acting barvy all day. C'mon, shift it, di'kut.. or you'll get us all sent back!"

'Di'kut'... more Mando-tongue.

Just what it meant, Trey wasn't sure, but it didn't sound like a compliment... all harsh, sharp, and gutteral tones... and it definitely wasn't used as one; not by the equally harsh, sharp, and gutteral Mandalorian drill instructors whom he'd heard say it. But Trey didn't take offense to being called.. whatever a di'kut was. Not this time, anyway. Although he couldn't see his brothers face, there was no mistaking the playfulness with which he'd delivered the insult.

Unlike 'di'kut', however, being 'sent back' was no insult... it was a serious threat. And the thing every clone feared most.

It wasn't a Mandalorian word, it was trooper-slang for: being 'reconditioned'.

And being 'reconditioned' was Kaminoan terminology for: scrambling your brains... or simply killing you, and throwing your 'defective' remains into an incinerator.

Trey tried to gather his thoughts with a shake of his head.

Only, Quay was right. He'd been filled with a strange feeling throughout the entire training session. The entire day, actually. His mind felt like it was receiving static from a faulty comm. His brother was also right that if he didn't get himself sorted out, he'd draw attention to himself... and that, he definitely didn't want.

This time, his fear became his ally and he was determined to use it to his advantage. But not yet. "Patience," the almost-heard voice within him seemed to say. "Rushing out now will only get them hurt.. or killed." His inner-voice was telling him that something _big_ was coming.. and coming _soon_.

Trey wasn't exactly sure WHAT was coming, but he resolved himself to be ready for it when it did.

"Okay, 'vode..." he called over the unit channel. "Lets show 'Papa Kal' that his precious Nulls aren't the only ones around here who can take him down!"

Trey smiled as his squads' voices confirmed their eagerness to accept the challenge of going up against the ultra-elite special-ops commandos. "Nothing," he thought, "drove a clone like a little competitiveness."

Before long, the inkling of anticipation flared into an almost overwhelming urge. The time, it seemed, had come.

"On my mark, Run-and-Gun," he ordered, slamming a fresh clip firmly into his Decee. "Charge that nest full speed... 'frags and 'flashers at the ready. Follow me in, assault pattern Vega..." Trey waited only long enough to take a deep breath of the cool, sterilized air provided by his Mark I combat-suits' recirculation systems, then sprang into action.

"GO!"

Sprinting across the uneven terrain, he and his brothers poured round after round into the shooter's niche. Twice, his unique internal warning system told him to duck, saving him from being scorched by a burning bolt from a repeating blaster. Crawling now from cover to cover, he positioned himself behind the base of a fallen column, next to a spot of open ground that granted the only access to his target. Heavy fire from the mounted E-web repeaters shook the ground around him.

Although he couldn't see the rest of his squad from this location, judging by the rain of fire being brought against him, and the lack of calls for a medic, he figured the others must have found adequate cover from the big blaster's deadly bolts, aided by their operator's deadly aim, continued in a near-continuous stream of destruction around him as he pressed his body as far into the scorched ground beneath him... its lethal lights daring him to expose himself.

Unless he could find a way through, his squad would fail the exercise. For a clone, failure was not an option.

He remained hunkered down in partially hidden blast crater, waiting for a chance to make a run for it. Frantically, his mind raced to find any previously unseen options. His only shot, as he saw it, was to catch the shooters while they reloaded.

But these were Mandalorians doing the shooting, not droids. That meant their aim was deadly... as was their guile.

Trey had to remain wary of being snared by one of the willy veteran soldier's traps. He was keenly aware that any miscues on their part were more likely to be intentionally used as bait... to lure out their un-experienced enemies. "And," he thought with lessening enthusiasm, "they alternated their reloads as efficiently as they combined their firepower." It would take an unlikely miscue on their part for any opening in their defenses to appear.

Then suddenly, somehow, Trey knew that just such a mistake was about to take place.

He didn't know how he knew, but he did. He simply felt it, just like always. It was those feelings that set him apart from his brothers. It was what made him so 'different'.

Pushing aside the misgivings of his talents, or curses, he readied himself for the moment to come. He didn't have long to wait. Only a few heartbeats later, it happened... a momentarily chorused lapse of sound came from the repeaters' positions. Although Sgt. Skiratas' favored shattergun didn't make any noise when fired, Trey knew it was empty, too.

He'd remembered from his flash-training that the maximum capacity for the alien weapon was 20-rounds. So, he'd been counting the shots from it. Number 20 had just ricocheted off the ground beside him, only a few nerve-wrecking inches away.

His premonition was right, they DID make a crucial mistake in timing. Trey, however, wouldn't.

Without hesitation, he jumped to his feet and charged headlong into the expanse of open ground that separated him from his objective, snapping a sim-grenade from its webbing on his chest-plate as he ran.

The distance closed in eerie silence, his movement seemed to be in slow-motion yet, at the same time, blurred past him too quickly for him register. Before he knew it, he was at to the bottom of the escarpment his instructor was using for elevated position. Using a technique called a 'crow-hop', named after some avian species from an unknown rim-world, Trey heaved the small detonator in his hand into a high arc, aimed to land right on top of their enemies' lofted position.

Then, just before the simulated explosives were timed to erupt.. klaxtons suddenly blared, and bright florescent lights flooded the chamber.

"Endex, Endex, Endex! Cease all training exercises!", came a booming voice that drowned-out all other sounds on the training course. "Clone units numbered CT-3301 through CT-9999 are ordered to report to their pre-assigned Unit Staging Areas! All other combat-ready units will return to their berthing areas and prepare for pre-deployment inspection. Training Sergeants are requested to meet in Prime Minister Lama Su's office for briefing."

The sudden interruption brought Trey to a staggered halt, as it did all the clones on the training course. Some looked around in bewilderment, others ran for the exits to comply with the unusual orders issued over the facility-wide announcement system. This had never happened before, and many, like Trey, didn't know what it meant.

But then, most, simply obeyed orders... exactly as they had been trained to do.

Trey made his way through the masses of hardened armored bodies to regroup with his squad. Whatever was going on, they would need to be together when they faced it. Even though the exercise, and thus the immediate danger, was over, Trey was still filled with the same sense of anticipation... as if the real danger was yet to come.

Curious looks donned the faces of some clones who had removed their helms, the exercise being declared over. Smatterings of dumbfounded questions and equally unsure answers rippled through the crowd. Repeated versions of "what's going on?" and "I dunno.. what about you 'vode?" mingled with the sounds of heavy breathing and unclasping armor. Then one of the trainers... the very one who had been firing at them moments ago with the sniper rifle... called out, "Attention!"

In unison, every clone in the room snapped to... eyes and ears fully focused on whatever orders they were about to receive.

"Troopers are to proceed to parade grounds as instructed." He gazed around, as if looking for a specific clone, or maybe counting them. A moment later he shouted, "Specified non-clone personnel are to report to the Armory. Now, shift it, meat-cans. Move out!" The Mandalorians rough voice carried the commands to the rafters of the training hall, but for all its vigor, supplied no other information.

Before Trey could get within speaking range to put forth any inquiries, another Mando, this one in gold-colored armor... (and accompanied by a foul-smelling, six-legged showcase of teeth- also golden in color, due to the short, wiry fuzz that covered its over-wrinkled skin); entered and announced in a martial tone, "Muster with your unit leaders on the parade ground in 10 clicks. Dismissed!"

His desire for information unsatisfied, Trey made his way to rejoin his squad. Without a word spoken, they seamlessly filed in as one amongst the throngs of troopers marching in tandem to the nearest exit.

As he fell-in with his fellow troopers, he wondered why the intense feelings of danger remained. 'Endex' had been called, the exercise was over... he should have felt safer now. But he didn't.

The same unknown sense that warned to him when to keep his head down or to make a run for it during combat training, continued its' grasp on the back of his mind. Far from fading away, as it usually did... if anything, it was getting worse.

As if feeling the gaping maw of his unknown destiny swinging open to swallow him whole, Trey continued on... sudden confusion now warring with long-held fears.

...


	3. Chapter 3

**"No, it is not important to us whether the clone units think, or feel… or think about what they may feel. Our sole aim is to ensure our guaranteed standards of quality production. So, if any unit displays evidence of un-programmed or disruptive behavior, it is isolated from the others and reconditioned to meet specifications. If reconditioning is deemed unsuccessful... we simply destroy it. I am quite curious at your obvious dismay of this process, Master Jedi. I was given to understand that your Order operates in much the same way when diposing of unsatisfactory products. Here, they are labeled as 'defectives', and destroyed efficienctly. The Jedi prefer to label your defective units as 'Sith', and take action to destroy them with equal efficiency... do you not? I would say the only real difference is our preferred methods of disposal. Seeing as how we Kaminoans aren't most commonly known for carrying our incinerators on our belts… as you Jedi are of displaying your lightsabers... that perhaps it is _your_ ways that are the more... how did you put it again, oh yes..._'un-civilized'_." _\- Lama Su, Kaminoan Prime Minister… having a 'philosophical discussion' with Obi-Wan Kenobi_**

...

**Chap3**

"**I'm** telling you, this it _IT_!" The excitement in Quay's voice came through clearly over the sqaud's comm channel. Oni, their sergeant, reached over and cuffed the squads' chatterbox on the back of his head. "Oh, yeah?", he ribbed. "So now we've got _two_ troopers who can see the future, eh?", referencing the usual jibe about Trey's 'nose for trouble'.

Almost on-cue, Duece dutifully chimed in, backing up Oni as usual. "Yeah... watch it, Quay. The last thing we need is for you to start acting spooky, too."

Although they all had been saved more than once by Trey's intuition, Duece had never seemed comfortable with it. Not jealous, really, but certainly put-off by being subject to a talent he didn't understand. "C'mon, Duece..." Quay teased. "I know you're itching to let loose some live ordinance!"

Duece patted his DC-15 lovingly. It was all the agreement he needed to express. "You know me so well, ner vod." The grim smile that laced his voice told of his hopes that soon a real enemy would get to know him that well, too.

Quay slapped his trigger-happy pod-mate's armor, satisfied he was ready for action. Oni tried to restrain their runaway energy. "Since you two are so jumpy to get shot at, I'll be sure to send you charging the first repeater nest we find. Deal?" Undeterred, Quay turned for reinforcement from his closest friend.

"Okay, Trey... out with it. What's your nose telling you? Are we finally going into battle?"

Trey didn't know what to say. The talk of his special skill unnerved him even more than it did Duece. "He isn't the one that would be taken away for it," Trey thought to himself. Outwardly, he settled for responding with a non-commital shrug.

Without someone to return his chatter, Quay gave in to patiently awaiting orders with a shake of his helm. "Fine. We'll find out soon enough, I guess."

As Trey obediently followed the figures in front of him, his inklings of dis-ease grew. Despite his silence on the subject to Quay, the feeling he was walking straight into terrible danger was on the edge of becoming unbearable. Something was indeed about to happen... something _BIG_. His whole body nearly tingled with the sense of it. What he needed was 'intel'… information. "Improper intel is like fighting blind," the old saying went. Surely, it was the uncertainty of his current situation that had to be fueling his panic. If he could get an idea of what lay ahead, he hoped... his fears could be allayed. Hopefully, before they ran completely wild... and dragged him along with them.

Keying his external comm-mic with a few quick blinks at the icon on his helmets HUD, Trey stepped closer to the soldier walking ahead of him, intent on finding any information to alay his fear. Reaching out casually, he tapped his 'brother' on the back of his torso-plate. The un-helmeted clone turned back to look at him without breaking stride, his dark eyebrow raised in question.

It was only then that Trey noticed the blue markings on his armor. A Lieutenant... Great.

"You need something, Private?"

Well, maybe it _was_ a good thing. An officer might know what this was all about. It seemed like a logical idea. However, Trey was stopped short of asking anything.

His fear whispered with urgent warning, "Maybe he _does_ know… about _YOU_!"

The manic thought made his mouth go dry. But, now he had to say something. He had already addressed an officer. To act strangely now would surely help make his nightmares come to fruition.

"Uh... Excuse me, sir…" he started awkwardly. "I was just… uh…wondering… um," He needed to come up with something, anything… quick. He could see the suspicion growing in his superior's eyes and growning frown. "Uh," he pronounced with sudden confidence, "if my squad needed any special kit for this next exercise?"

It turned not to be that bad of a question, after all. Using the term 'exercise' inferred, he hoped, that he didn't think anything was amiss... just curious. It also may help him in gauging whether this was an event that only the officers knew was coming. And the bit about 'kit'… well, all troopers knew that their clone-officers believed in their soldiers being prepared.

The unknown Lieutenant's face dissolved into a more genuine-looking frown, as he replied, "No, I don't. But I imagine if we all just follow orders, we'll find out soon enough." By his sour expression, Trey figured he probably didn't have any better ideas behind their current situation than he did... and he didn't particularly like it, either. Unwilling to raise the ire of the officer, Trey simply nodded and said, "Yessir". Then eased back to walk again amongst his own unit.

While he listened to his squad-mates... his pod-mates, all... banter over what they thought the unusual muster was about, Trey stayed largely out of the conversation. Now, suddenly felling like an interloper for some reason. As if he were tapping into enemy comms, not joining-in with his brothers'. Putting in a non-committal grunt once in a while to keep his brothers attention focused away from him, Trey attempted internally to get a grasp on the fluid emotions running through him.

With frantic bursts of unthinkable ideas flitting through his brain, he simply tried to remain moving forward... unnoticed. Desperation gave bloom to plans that might grant him escape, but nothing rational came forth. So, into the vacuum crept thoughts that Trey knew could only have been spawned by his many, frequent nightmares. They whispered to him of things that made him afraid to close his eyes, even to blink. Panic was making his breaths come in short and hurried bursts. He tried to force himself to relax, to not over-react.

"This could all be a drill," he told himself, trying to regain his composure. "Just because it's a sudden departure from the normal, regimented schedule doesn't mean anything is wrong." But he just couldn't convince himself that everything was normal. His 'special-sense' kept telling him, in ever louder tones, that tragedy loomed. Again... Fear found its voice inside his head.

"Quay was right... this is _it_," it said to him. "That's what all this is about... they've found you out."

The specter of deeply ingrained terrors raced through him, stripping away at the calm facade he struggled to present, even under the relative safety of his helmet. Blitzed by fear unlike any he had ever felt, the forecast of inevitable doom gave credence to his already overwhelming sense of dread. Trey's body began to tremble uncontrollably, as he fought to maintain control of his mind.

"This is where they single you out and send you for 'reconditioning'..." it said, urging him to act. "You have to get away, _NOW_!"

Soon, unthinkable plans sounded more reasonable.

"I could steal another clone's armor…" his mind seized upon, "pretend to be him. The Kaminoans wouldn't be able to tell us apart… not before..." The idea was quickly dismissed. Even if it did work, highly unlikely as he realized the plan to be... it would mean sending some other poor clone to his doom.

"No," Trey thought, "I couldn't do that to a brother." Images of some unknown trooper being dragged away to be disposed of were more than enough to dissuade any further contemplation. There had to be another way out of this. Without realizing he was even doing it, his gloved finger slowly began taping the triggering stud on his Decee. With a start, he caught himself actually wondering if he could shoot his way free and escape.

"But who," a rational portion of his mind asked, "would I be willing to shoot my way through... even if freedom was possible?"  
His brothers?  
His _vode_... ?  
The thought was madness, born of desperation. Trey knew deeper than any fear that killing another clone was something he was incapable of doing. And besides, where could he escape to? There was nowhere to go in this enclosed world, he reminded himself. Even if he could get out of the facility, the entire planet was covered with water. Gills and fins had not been a part of his genetically-manipulated blueprint. No, there was no way out of here. Not for him.

Then, the ultimate plan of escape... and of insanity: Let _them_ shoot _him_.

He'd never before entertained the notion suicide. Although there had been latrine-rumors that some clones had…and did. Those were just rumors, though. In the carefully monitored and administered world of the clones, very little 'classified intel' (as loose-talk was commonly called jokingly), was ever found to be true. But still, his mind walked that frightening path a bit farther.

"It may be better than 'reconditioning'", he heard himself whisper.

Fear that he may have been overheard flooded his veins with adrenaline. Sweat formed all over his body, until his eyes thankfully found the icon in his helmet's HUD that told him his mic was muted. Just as quickly as panic had seized him, relief washed over him like a cool stream. He hadn't slipped. "Not yet, anyway," he said glumly.

Just as Trey began to think he could at last relax, that he could believe for the moment this unusual formation-call was only that... unusual... his memory replayed to him the un-overheard words he had uttered. The cool mental-waters caressing him instantly froze into the icy hold of terror. This new horror was nothing like those he had grown accustomed to being raised here, in this factory of death. This unfamiliar fear was of himself.

Shakily, Trey continued to march forward, looking around frantically, desperately, pathetically... for any signs that this might still just be some drill. Any sign of salvation.

His eyes eventually went up to the viewing platform that overlooked the massive, pearly white ceilinged cavern. There, the gracefully long-necked creatures whom would be performing the necessary task of making him more conforming, looked down with scrutinizing precision. Seeing the cold, yet oddly tranquil, eyes studying him more like a laboratory experiment than a living, thinking, feeling being; only gave credence to the paranoia that now consumed him.

Despair whispered to him, seductively selling him on the only real choice it said he had left. But doing _that_ just wasn't in him.

He could sacrifice his life to save another, and would… especially at that moment. But he couldn't willingly do himself in any more than he could harm another clone. Besides... if he could, he wondered, wouldn't he have already? Not liking where those questions might lead him, he resolutely pushed all thoughts of it aside… along with all plans for escape or salvation.

All hope was suppressed, as well.

As he entered the vast parade ground area, his tortured mind tried to resign itself to the unfavorable fate he was sure to come. Perhaps he needed to be reconditioned, he thought. "Perhaps then," he whispered to himself, "I won't be so different from my brothers." Being more like them was usually a comforting thought, but right then, thinking it didn't make him feel any better. It made him feel... '_other_'.

Reaching his position in the formation, Trey stood in his assigned place in unmoving, uniformed silence, being slowly surrounded by masses of his mirror images. Only this time, instead of being comforted by presences of his brothers, or even relieved by the relative anonymity of being just another clone, Trey suddenly felt surrounded. The sense of dread within him became overwhelming as one by one, other armored figures fell-in to their positions within the formation. He saw them now as individual pieces of a white-plastoid prison being dropped into place, sealing him to his doom.

He felt inside the cage-door slam shut, as the last stragglers rushed to fill the gaps any tardiness had left. His heart sank, as nausea rose with him. Unable to move, unable to call for help, unable to withstand the terrible voice inside him screaming "_RUN!_"... the last crumbling walls within him began to tumble down, leaving him raw and exposed to emotions and thoughts he knew he could no longer control.

His contemplation of self-termination flew in the face of he everything he was designed ,and trained, to do. To survive. It was all the proof that he, and more importantly, the Kaminoans, that CT-3033 had performed below specifications. He suddenly understood exactly what was happening to him... WHY he was so 'different' from his brothers.

Trey, CT-3033… _is_ 'Defective'.

The realization destroyed any vestiges of hope that remained hidden away deep inside of him. He was suddenly dizzy. Bile rose in his throat, burning its way up from his churning gut, to fill his mouth with its acidic taste. He felt as if the entire universe were closing in around him, like he was falling down into a deep, dark hole. Everything that used to be his reality, was now a shrinking point of light that sped further and further away from him... consumed by the growing darkness of his malfunctioning mind.

Now he knew why he was 'different' from his pod-mates. He simply wasn't up-to-specs, just as he'd long feared.

He knew now that every group of clones, or 'pod', didn't have one like him, as he had often hoped. Now, somehow... the Kaminoans had found him out. He must have failed some unknown test... somehow. The idea that he was not worthy of existence made him feel unhealthy... like a cancerous cell hidden inside an otherwise fully-functioning organ. What he should do, he thought, was turn himself over to the nearest Kaminoan technician. Let them 'fix' him... 'recondition' him... 'cleanse' him.

Trey simply continued to stand there in silent obedience like the good soldier he pretended to be. A lone example of imperfection... a vivid blemish amongst the magnificently-polished ranks of 'full-spec' clone troopers, waiting to be ordered to step forward and be displayed as unworthy before everyone he'd ever known and cared about.

He imagined the looks of disgust and contempt that would be worn upon every identical face, even Quay's. Then, as his nightmares had often shown, he would be taken away... in disgrace... to be 'reconditioned'. Glancing sideways at his beloved pod-mates standing in formation all around him, he wondered if he would even remember them after... 'it'. Once they knew he was defective, he thought sadly, they probably wouldn't _want_ to remember CT-3033. He couldn't blame them if they didn't. By not meeting up to performance standards, he had failed them. Another unfamiliar emotion, this one far beyond the soul-crushing depths of any previous fears, swallowed him whole and shaded grey the dim light of whatever remained within him that had once been 'Trey'... eclipsing him into its creeping darkness. All that was left of him stood trembling, frightened, and... ashamed. For the first time in his intentionally short life, he left... alone.

Warm, wet tears crept slowly down his face.

All the while, as if to mock his failings, over the battalion comm frequency of his helmet came the familiar chorus of clones' voices ringing-out with pride the beginning verses of "Vode An"... the Mandalorian 'Song of Brotherhood'.

...


	4. Chapter 4

...

Begin Transmission

(Encrypted Communique)  
Source: GAR Command Center- Courasant  
Destination: Topica City Training Facility- Kamino

...Massage as Follows...

"...Unexpectedly Heavy Losses of GAR Combat Units and Equipment on Geonosis...Jedi Council has Approved Order for Emergency Deployment of 100,000 Clone Reinforcements to GAR Forward Supply and Weapons Facility on Ord Pardron, in the mid-rim...ASAP! Republic Fleet Cruiser 'Sullust Star', currently in-route for Immediate Transport of Combat Units..."

End Transmission

...

-Chap4-

...(28 Standard Days After the Battle of Geonosis)

"Master," a solemn Jedi youngling announced with a bow. "The Council will see you now."

Although the boys' voice was soft, as befitting such a place of contemplation, anxiousness... and something well approaching awe... radiated from him through the Force.

From his unusual position of meditation.. one that looked to the young Temple page to more like an exercise in self-torture... the contorted figured of the Jedi Master began to unravel. When at last he fully stood, only then did his eyes open, exposing them to be a deep emerald-green. After blinking away his entraced state, Thrain took in several slow breathes. His gleaming eyes quickly filled with what seemed to be a great sadness. Like the mists of Alderaan, it clouded them until they seemed unable to reflect any light... from without, or within.

Without looking at the boy... almost making an effort NOT to, it seemed... he finally answered, though his eyes remained focused far away. He simply stated, "I am ready."

In the long hours of the far too-short amount of days since he saw his padawnas fall, Thrain had lost confidence in much of what had defined him. His ragged face bore testimony to the torment behind his lost, listless eyes. He had no idea of what words he would say to the council... but the meaning would be clear. By the time he had finally been granted an audience... the council being rather busy lately, he understood... his grief over his padawans death had all but consumed his faith in his abilities.

He seemed to have aged many years in the past few days. Still, even racked with sorrow, his martially trained body moved with a hurried grace.

The smallish Echani male youngling, with the pale, white skin and hair, and dazzling... some say 'hypnotic'... silver eyes common to his humanoid species, rushed along with as much dignity as his eager body could muster. He nearly was running to keep up with the large human before him, who strode out of the Garden of a Thousand Fountains... as if marching resolutely to meet some unknown foe... or fate. With some effort, he eventually caught up with the runaway Master, and started speaking... sort, of. His rushing words collidide and stubbled together as if trying to keep pace with his stubby legs. "E-e-exscuse m-me, Master? I-i-is it true... are really the Great Jedi Weapons Master, Thain Dural?"

At the word 'great', the older Jedi came to a sudden stop... sending his young follower into a somewhat less-than-dignified stumble.

As if speaking to some being only he could see... some ghost that haunted his footsteps... Thrain replied without looking down, "'Great', did you say? And what, young Padawan, makes one so elevated above others, as to be labeled 'great'?"

Looking up into the senior Jedi's furrowed brow, the boy imediately assumed he had said something wrong, and began to stutter as he tried to explain himself. "I-I- I'm sorry, M-Master.. I-I was j-just saying t-that..." Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Y-You ARE Jedi M-Master Thrain D-Dural... aren't you?"

"Yes, my name is Thrain Dural... and I am a Jedi Master", came his dark reply. "But you have much to learn, young one... of the Force, and a great many other things... if think I am worthy of being called 'great'."

The boy stood gazing up at him as if he'd just been endowed with some great and mystifying wisdom... the sort he would have no hope of understanding. He bowed, and remanied so... as if awaiting more pearls to drop from the Great One. Having nothing more to say, wise or not... Thrain simply turned, and began his martial walk towards the meeting place of his masters. Again, the youngling rushed to his side and began speaking.

"Master, you are my HERO!", the boy excitedly exclaimed. "I've dreamt of meeting you for as long as I can remember! Since before I even was sent here, to the Academy! In fact, it was because of you that I asked my parents to let me become a Jedi!"

"Me?" Thrain queeried distractedly. "Why?"

Seemingly unflustered by the pained tone on the mans voice, the boy continued, "You have been trained in the arts of Raskta-Djo, the ancient Echani Jedi Weapons Master, in the Way of the Living Weapon! It is my lifes honor to actually meet you, Master!" With this, the young Jedi bowed again. This time, his head almost to the floor.

Looking down, Thrain at last took in the sight of the small, near-prostrate figure before him. "Get up, young one.", he patiently ordered. The boy hurriedly complied, taking a quick moment to brush the front of his white robe with his hands, before finally lifting his eager young face to meet the older mans gaze.

When the childs eyes met his, Thrain was physically taken aback.

It wasn't the coloration that had sent his reeling inside, he had seen many exotic irises in his many travels. It was the look of near-worship that filled those twinkling dual-orbs that made Thrains heart seize within his chest. He had seen that look before... in the lavender-hued eyes of an equally young Jedi-in-training. The one he would eventually take to be his Padawan.

The one he had just recently returned froms' home-world... The one he had placed gently in her grave.

The slight Echani youngling seemed to disolve before Thrains widening eyes, melting away to reveal the visage of an equally small Zethra.

Thrains own reflection orbed within the same awe-striken gaze. Before a single of his gathering teardrops could escape to run down his cheek, the transformation was complete.

He saw only her now, standing before him. Not the last, tormenting image of her that was forever burned in his minds-eye, but as she was upon their first meeting... and eager youngling, full of dreams and life. His pain forced his mind to allow him to accept, just for this one stolen moment, that which he knew he couldn't really be seeing. Just a small lie to however temporarily soothe the personal agonies he could no longer bear.

Yes. He needed this. His mind... his very spirit... yearned for this breif release. And so, he allowed the fantasy to envelope him.

A feeling of near-joy flooded through him, and he became overwhelmed with the need to touch again her warm, living skin. But as he reached for the small vision... it turned and ran away.

Completely forgetting now, the young page beside him, Thrain stood and made as if to follow little Zethtra down the hallway. Before he moved, however, she stopped ant turned again.

This time, wearing sparring robes... saying excitedly, "Watch this, Master!" She followed it with a Force-assisted full backflip, ending with an axe-kick that broke the wooden plank she had previosly set up.

Thrain remembered the moment. He looked down at her feet... and smiled. They were red and stratched, as he remembered them, because she refused to stop trying until she could do it perfectly.  
It was an excersice in control, and he had told her it wouldn't be easy at her age.

But from the very start of her training, she had determined to prove that she was different... special.

Worthy.

By ther beaming smile, it was obvious she had learned to appreciate the sequences difficulty, but also that she was proud of herself.

As was he. Thrain remembered that moment very well. Again, she then turned and ashed further down the corridor.

More years aged her when she turned to reveal now holding a training sword... and executing all 7 steps of the most complex form of the Rsu Defense. The system was virtually impenatrable, and took extreme concentration in both the blade and the Force. Her eyes shimmered with the simple thrill of accomplishment.

That was the moment he thought her ready to advance her training. As the psuedo-memory played on, she turned and ran farther away down the hall.

Now, she turned brandished her newly contructed lightsaber. Its purple blade emitted a light almost the same color as her skin, acting only to bedazzle her already stunning tones.

As the child before him took the next breathe, to bravely countinue forward his devotion, a coldness filled Thrane.

"No...", he whispered desperately, shaking his head and backing slowly away from his small escort. His fears and the Force told him what would happen next... what this, another small child, was about to ask of him.

"I-It is my greatest hope," the childs voice declared, his confidence building as he plowed ahead, "to someday become..."

Zethra stopped and turned a final time, in the archway at the end to the hall...her voice was still that of the innocent child he had first met.  
"Please, Master..."

Zethras phantasm turned to face him at last... her face, now the same bloody mess that stared back at him from his haunted dreams, "...may I go.."

Trembling, Thrain again pleaded softly... "No, please... I cannot..."

His face now flooding with confusion and hurt, the Echani continued. "...y-your Padawan, Master Thrain..." That's as far as the boy got.

His fallen apprentices once melodical voice now gargled with her own blood, "...to WAR?!"

Thrain, his face a mask of mixed terror and grief, raved. "NO!"

Shocked and frightened by the sudden outburst... and not knowing of any other reason that could have caused it other than his request... young Fenni screamed and ran away as fast as his little legs could move him. His tiny back diminished away down the long, empty, marbled corridor. The sound of his slapping sandles overscored by the coughs and wails of the crushed Jedi-lings sobs. Together with the remnant echoes of Thrains booming rejection, they surrounded Thrain... like an army of ghosts. Ghosts created by his own failings. An army led and commanded by HER.

The constant assualt had very nearly broken him... and at times like this, he longed to surrender.

He reached his shaking hands beneath the folds of his robe and clinched tightly the broken hilt of his fallen padawans weapon. For a long moment, Thrain stood there feeling confused and ashamed... sure that he had done the right thing.

For both the youngling... and himself.

"I am sorry," Thrain whispered to the empty hallway, and the imagined apperitions around him. "I am no longer worthy of training Jedi..."

Shrouded in total sadness, he added to the air..."I am not worthy of being called "Master", anymore."

Dropping his head as he turned to resume his appointment with the Masters of the Jedi Council, he muttered...

"Truly, I am no-longer certain I am worthy of being a Jedi."

...


	5. Chapter 5

_"The original cloning process required the mass-cloning of unfertalized human-female reproductive cells. However, to ensure required purity standards of the donor-genome... no other DNA could be allowed to enter the process. As you can imagine, this caused quite the delimma. Our solution was simple. From the original Jango Fett sample, TWO clones were first produced... and placed in a single gestation tank together; designated Fett-clone Units: 'FUA-1', &amp; 'FUA-2'. _  
_Only a single genetic variation separated the two units from being perfectly identical clones..._  
_Clone unit A-2, as you may know... was an entirely untampered clone of the original genome; as per the donor's payment-arrangments. After gestation was complete, unit A-2 was taken possesion of by Jango Fett, and redesignated 'Boba'. _  
_Unlike the 'Boba'-unit... 'FUA-1' was subjected to intense hormone therapy until sufficient maturation of it's reproductive organs was achieved. Once the usable reproductive cells had been harvested... the useless 'FUA-1' unit was then destroyed."_  
_However... in order to harvest the neccessary Fett-pure reproductive-cells required for cloning, the other initial cloned unit, A-1... was engineered to be FEMALE."_

_\- fragment of data recovered from a damaged datapad found in ruins of a secret underwater lab, found on Dorumaa -_

**Chap5**

**(10 standard hours after 'Sullast Stars' departure from Kamino)**

...

**_ "No kriffing way!"..._** Quays voice came echoing out of the polished dura-steel lavatory that came with their new, two-bunk crew quarters. "This is just for the two of us?"

After a lifetime of cramped, communal living, the small two-man cabin was like having the whole starship to themselves... even if they did have to share the lav with the two crewers bunked next door.

"Well yeah... if you don't count the two guys on the other side of the 'fresher door."

Trey had a pretty good feeling about who they would be sharing the space with. The GAR did everything by the book... and by the numbers.  
But he didn't spoil the momentary lapse in his brothers reasoning skills. It had been a long day, and they were only now getting a chance to relax, and take it all in.

Leaning against the bulkhead of his and Quays' new quarters, Trey continued vigorously rubbing his headful of short, dark hair around wildly with a towel.

As he did, he squinted his eyes to help take away the sight of Quay... jumping around the small cabin from one corner to the next, in utter amazment. Like some sort of mutant Tradoshian lizard-monkey... in a mating frenzy.

Trey enjoyed an easy smile, while he watched his younger brothers' incurable eagerness play itself out. Finally, he put his head back, and closed his eyes fully... letting his hands fall to his lap with a satisfied sigh.

Just like Quay right now, moving so fast it was almost dizzying, he thought... the last two days had been mostly a blur, too.

Since their emergency muster... followed by their rushed, but orderly and militarlity-efficient, deployment... Trey hadn't really had much time to dwell on anything as mundane as any possible defects in his genetic scripting... or rapidly deteriorating mental state.

His world now... compaired to just a few short hours ago... was near-absolute nirvana. Their un-announced muster... what he once thought, his doom... had become his salvation.

Funny, how things work out... he mused.

Immediately after stowing their gear, and subsequent room-inspection, both Trey and Quay had drawn guard duty, down in the supply hold.

With little more than a glance at their new quarters, they had been forced to stand guard... for the last eight hours... over the ships dry-stores (mostly tastless ration-cubes and some unlabled flash-frozen perishables, according to Quays unauthorized scroungings).

While the rest of the company were free to expolre the ship, CT-3033 and -3034 were the unlucky numbers.

Now though, they were finally able see what their new living area was like. And, Trey had to admit... they weren't bad. To a couple of clone-troopers, the small metalic closet was like staying in one of the finest rooms in the swankiest of Alderaanian resorts.

It was all so new... new to THEM, anyway.

A quick peek at the desk crono beside his new bunk... (again, compliments of the GAR... and Captain Herill, master of the 'Sullast Star'... the transport ship that was now their temporary home.) Trey decided that he had enough time to relax for a bit longer, before taking his brother Quay to explore the rest of the ship.

With any luck, he hoped... Oni, or even Duece... would come along before their little brother got bored with searching and touching every bin, button, and display panel of their exciting new domain.  
Then, Trey plotted... one of them could be suckered into 'baby-sitting' their 'last-hatched' sibling.

Although his feelings of euphoria... stemming from their unexpected deployment, and new surroundings... hadn't lasted as long as his brothers; gone now was the strangling sense of dread that he'd experienced before.  
Now, he was left feeling sort of... hollow. Unsure of so many new things all at once.

While Quay was still caught up in the excitment, Trey was glad to be able to enjoy the relative quiet and solitude their temproray quarters afforded them.  
He had alot to think about... and since no one even seemed to know they where leaving, finding out how long they might be 'in transit' was nearly impossible.

Plots to send Quay in search of any intel, or food-stuffs (that might do it... ALL clones shared a love of anything edible), floated through Treys mind.

Not... to be sure, in any true desire to be rid of his brother.

Only, to have some time to himself, for awhile... a luxury even the new, semi-pirvate lav... couldn't provide.

All hopes of solitary reflection were blown away, however... by the slight squeeking of the turning lav-latch. Followed shortly, by Onis' boisterously stern, but familiarly freindly, voice... from the small berths' communal restroom.

"I KNEW it... I JUST KNEW it!... It HAD to be you two next door to me!"

Oni's dramatic declaration was as poorly dealt as his 'I'd-REALLY-hoped-it wouldn't-be-Trey-&amp;-Quay-next-door-to-me' act.  
He'd received the same berthing orders as they rest of the squad. In fact, as their squad leader, he had to personally inspect their quarters before and after they settled in. All the brothers knew that they were stationed right beside one another. Oni rolled his eyes in exasperated defeat.  
"Well, there goes all of my beauty-sleep for this trip!"

It was his own way of trying to impersonate the well-practiced dislike of the troopers that some of the sergeants on Kamino used. Trey wondered if Oni though it was actually motivational, or if he just saw it as 'part of the role'.

Either way, Trey and the others knew him too well to buy it completely... even when he did manage to sound sincere.  
And this could have been one of those times... except for Quay, who had until that moment, been busily investigating the cabinets below his bunk... burst out in an entirely insubordinate eruption of laughter.

Quay was now rolling on the deck of the berthing compartment, holding his gut and pointing at Oni... who stood dressed in only a towel around his waist... and some sort of decorated poly-elastic bag on his head!  
In one hand clutched a bottle of sani-clean hair solution, and the other... what appeared to Trye to be a long-handled scrub brush of unknown fibers.

Seemingly unaware of his overtly-amusing state, their sergeant began to educate his men on the virtues of, as well as the GAR health &amp; safety regulations concerning... economical laveratory usage.

It wasn't long before Trey too, was struggling to contain his mirth. Oni would NEVER live this down! "Oh!", Trey thought amusingly. "Where is Duece...? He'll be SO mad that he missing this!"

Trey wondered quickly if he could possibly activate the cam on his helmet... now sitting neatly atop the rest of his armor; in a stack beside his rack... and get a holo of Onis' attire, for Duece to enjoy later.

But, he didn't think he could reach it without drawing his sergeants attention. "Too bad, Duece..", he resigned to himself. "This is better than the time Quay got his head stuck in that empty shell-casing!"

Without awaiting the abatement of Quays outburst, Oni forged on ahead... dutifully instructing his troopers.

"Now, I know we're used to having to share lavs with an entire battalion... and even though there are only four of us assigned to these facilites, GAR cleaning standards must still be maintained."

He stopped and turned to face them both (Oni being a 'pace-and-turn' type of speaker) before continuing... "And these rooms will NOT fail any inspections." Taking a relaxing breath, he went on.

"I know you won't fail to fulfill your duties, I just don't want any of us to get too distracted by changes in our enviroments... we were trained to acclimate and adapt, and..."

Daring to interupt his superior during a lecture, Trey gingerly raised a hand in queery... as to recieve clarification on some point or another.

Oni graciously stopped his dicertation, and prompted his subordinates' question. He'd always felt that curiosity was key to survival, and encouraged it whenever he could.  
He was fond of touting the old soldiers saying: "You can never have enough intel."

"Yes? What is it,Trey...?"

"Sarge, ummm..." Trey asked, all innocence, and wonder. "What is that THING on your head?!"

At that, Quay... who had at last seemed to regain some measure of control over himself... utterly lost any remaining self-disipline.

His flushing face contorted, lips pressed tightly together... yet still failing to hold back the flood of laughter aimed at his sergeant.  
Watering eyes and sputtering grunts, soon gave way to his convulsing body falling on the floor, rolling back and forth... mimicking the swaying of sea-going vessels on lesser developed worlds. He tried repeatedly to point at his sergeants unusual headgear while simultaniously being unable to stop cluthcing at his own gut.

Tears covered his reddened cheeks, and before long, he was gasping for air... but still unable to stop laughing long enough to take in a deep enough breath.

Oni, ignoring Quays display, looked to Trey in frank delightment.

As Quays convulsions went on, he shared his new prizes with enthusiastic relish.

"This?", he said, pointing with his scrubber at the covering on his head. "I got this at the ships cantine!" He pulled at the elastic side-band, showing Trey how it easily stretched.

"Its to keep your hair dry in the sani-steamer. They've got all kinds of neat stuff down there!"

Brandishing his other prize along with a proud smile, he added, "Like this, I got this back-scrubber too!"

Inside, Trey felt as if he were about to burst! He fought on, however, against his need to release his mirth... to add ONE more charge to the bomb...

"Uh, huh...", he managed. "And what are THOSE...?" This time, his attention was on the small, multi-colored designs littering Onis fancy new headpiece...

"They're called 'DUCKIES'!" Oni declared, brandishing a toothy smile.

Producing another hidden treasure from wothin his shower-bag, Oni added "Like this one!" In his hand, he held a bright yellow, rubberized version of the water fowl on his hairnet.

With a look of sheer delight, he squeezed it... cuasing the toy to emit a two-toned, high-pitched squeek.

Treys efforts to not mock his brothers enthusiasm were now a total loss.

He could no longer resist the malady that Quay was still being stricken with. Arms folded snugly against his midsection, Treys pent-up laughter exploded out of him like a thermal detonator.

Now, he too... was rolling around on his bunk in hysterics, a match to his incapacitated little brother.

Oni just stood there, puzzled. Looking down at them in confusion... and looking ever more redicules.

Poor Oni... Trey thought. He could select and slot targets with the best of them... but, had always been a little slow to realize when he was the butt of a joke.

Donning his usual, stern, disapproving look... only added to the comedy.

The 'tough-guy' persona doesn't stick too well, not when the troops your trying to decieve have secretly nicknamed you, "Mama-oni". The fact that no clone had any idea what a 'mama' would be like, never seemed to bother the brothers... not outwardly, anyways.

"Giggle all you want..." 'Mama-oni' warned, shaking scrubber pointing to them both in turn.

"But, if my sensors pick up even a TRACE of urine in that sani-steam... I'm talking to YOU, Quay..." The accused clone supplied his sergeant with a mock face of innocence. But, Oni wasn't buying it... he continued.

"... I'll have you BOTH on latrine-duty, for the rest of the deployment!"

With that, he slammed the bulkhead door... but then, he had to slam it a second time to secure its aged latch.

The two brothers looked at each other for aid, but failed each other miserably... as both exploded in renewed laughter that they KNEW their sergeant was able to hear...

And that made them laugh even harder.

Treys cheeks soon began to hurt from stretching his face so much. It wasn't used to this exercise. But then, his abdomin muscles were aching too... and they had been exercised, plenty.

While struggling hard to catching their breath... as if they had just run a ten-click sprint, with full packs... the bonding brothers avoided looking at each other.  
They knew that if they caught each others eye, before they caught ahold of themselves... all would be lost again. For another few minutes, at least.

Sitting up on his bunk, blowing out and sucking in much needed oxygen... Trey finally wrestled his mirth back into its box. He had never laughed like that before, so openly... not when he wasn't under-fire, anyways. Stress had funny effects on the human... even a cloned ones'... psyche.

Regardless of the catalyst, the aftermath was the same. The joyous effort left him spent... and with a dull, throbbing headache.

Quay, however... was having no such luck.

He continued to sputter and heave, rolling on the off-white painted metal deckplate... unable, or unwilling... to let the amusing episode pass.

It wasn't helping Treys gathering migrain, thats for sure. With no other options at hand, he called on his pillow... by grabbing it, and holding it tightly around his head... to come to his aid. It provided, however... little comfort.

But fortune, it seemed, was Treys ally... for the moment.

"Oh, hey!" his easily unfocused little brother excitedly called up from the floor. "What is THIS?"

Quays characteristic attention-swings had kicked in, once again. "Something shiny", Trey thought to himself. "...has him off-and-digging, again." That was the thing about Quay... he just didn't stop.

Ever.

Trey would never want to live without his brothers... any of them... but sometimes, it was hard to keep up with (and an eye on) Quay... ALL the time.

"Whatever Kaminoan tech it was, who tweeked Quays hyperness and attention-span genes...", Trey grumbled... rubbing his temples. "Must have had green-eyes!"

The irony of a clone 'playing-the-genetics-card', by reffering to his designers' species own ideals of imperfection... was lost on him, however.

Deciding he desperately needed some respite, Trey also decided to follow fates' lead... and moved on with the battle-tactic that usually worked on Quay the best... distraction.

"Hey, Quay...", he said suggestively... causing his active roommate to pause in his frantic snoopings.

"Why don't you go ahead and take your shower now?" A quick steam before they head out... it was the logic that baited Treys trap. It should buy him some quiet time, at least... he hoped.

"Huh?", his brother replied... his curiosity, a defense against Treys machinations. "But, I just found this neat little cubby-hole behind this panel!" Quays excitement was plain.

"I could probably fit a whole MONTHS worth of nutra-cakes inside here, I bet!"

He dropped back out of sight, rumaging around some other odd corner he'd discovered.

Then, inspiration struck. "Yeah... But, you should see what all the sani settings do in there!"

Quays head came popping back up into view. His eyebrows arched above his curious, yet sceptical eyes. "Settings?", he asked. "What kind of 'settings'...? You mean, like... 'On' and 'Off'? And, 'Hot' or 'Cold'?"

Putting on an air of 'you-don't-know-what-you're-missing', Trey answered sourly. "No... I'm talking about the whole row of spray-options on the sani-steams' control panel."

He returned to leaning against the wall with his eyes serenely closed, at let the sounds of his brother... rushing through his backpack, and pulling out his bathing gear.  
It wasn't long before the sound of the closing 'fresher hatch, then the activation of the sani-steamers' jets... was followed by Quays boyish exclaimations of bliss.

"Now THIS Baby,...", came Quays shouted quoting of his favored (and only) holo-comic hero, 'Lance Lightspeed'... "...is STELLAR!"

Trey grinned with fraternal affection.

Soon, the muffled echoes of Quays' off-key singing, muffled by the sounds of spraying steam-jets; gave Trey the confirmation he needed that his ploy for privacy had indeed worked.

Trey saluted his victory with a deep, satisfying sigh... and lazily relaxing back against the cool, metalic bulkhead behind him.

At last, he could allow the muddled and blurred memories of the last few hours, to slowly wash over him.

**...**


	6. Chapter 6

**_..._**

_"The next step in the production process, I am most embarrassed to admit... was not always so efficient. The sheer mass of your order, I'm afraid to say... caused some rather embarrassing miscalculations on our part. Particularly, in the area of waste-disposal._  
_It was not the biologic waste, you understand, produced by the clone-units' natural dietary processes, that caused the problems... those, had been adequately accounted for._  
_It was disposal of the cloned-units themselves... the ones found to be unsatisfactory, or defective... that proved to be a minor issue._  
_You must understand, our guarranty of quality requires the most rigid of standards be adhered to. The units you see here, Master Jedi... are the results of a_ **very**_ extensive process of genetic-selection... and elimination. Only the top one-thousandth, of the most suitable one percent; of all cloned-units produced in the first year; were selected as the_ **basic**_ genetic-blueprint for the actual units used to create your new army. During the genome-selection process, _**millions**_ of Fett-clones were produced... and subsequently, discarded. This was in order to isolate the most desirable combination of genes... from which to use as the template... from which your units could begin with. Then, of course... came the long, and rather exploratory, processes of genome augmentation. This was to enhance the specific character-traits... such as loyalty and obeidience; as specifically requested by your Order._

_But, our original waste-disposal system proved insufficient... due to the sheer volume of undesirable units being disposed of. In response, we installed these industrial incinerators, and garbage-compactors... to reduce the volume of waste, by carbonization... and then compress the cloned-units carbonized remains down... for easier handling. Once it has been compacted, it is launched into space... towards the farthest star... to ensure the non-contamination of our homeworld. _

_Some, even (of the lower-cast, you understand;) once suggested that accepting your Order's contract was unwise... and, that our mishandling of the unit-waste issue, was proof of that. However, I assure you Master Jedi... that those few technicians, who viewed differing opinions, have since been successfully 'reconditioned'... and are now much more agreeable to their stations. It was something we had not expected, yet certainly not of any real concern._  
_Again, please accept my assurances... and our garrentee; that your Order will be completely satisfied with our final results. Upon taking receipt of purchase, you will see... that we have created for the Jedi, a complete army... of the finest soldiers ever to enter combat._  
_And, that our early processing issues... have had no effect on the quality of **your** product."_

**_\- Lama Su, continuing his tour of Tapico Citys' cloning facilities to Jedi Master... and eventual, Grand Army GENERAL; Obi-wan Kenobi -_**

**...**

**Chap6-**

** From** the fog of his memory... the blurred images of the day, began to slowly resolve into Trey's mental-focus.

The loading process itself, he recalled... had been carried out with expected military discilpine, and precision. Other than, of course... the almost palapable vibe of excitement, runningn through the over-conditioned air.

The long years of strict training had gotten him through most of it. Trey, literally... slept-walked through most of it. "JLD...Just Like Drill", as the saying went. He was thankful now that, for once... the old army mantra had served true. Mostly.

It all began as simple as training, anyway. After mechanically reporting to the assingment depot... just, following the suit in front of him; Trey was issued his deployment kit, and pointed towards a door. He couldn't recall what it looked like now, however. Not that it mattered... all the doors on Kamino looked the same; just different sizes. Like the rest, it only led into a dizzying maze of dimly lit, pale white and grey hallways.

No wonder he couldn't picture it in his head, Trey thought... he wanted to forget everything he could about that place; now that he was free of it.

The next door, however... what turned out to be the _last_ Kaminoan door he would ever walk through (he hoped!); Trey _did_ remember... clearly. It was massive. Just like the space it opened into...

Though, not quite as large as the parade grounds, the debarkation platform on Tampico City was still built on an impressive scale. Once out of the tunnel, the orderly lines of clones moved with drilled precision, into geometricaly alligned columns that soon filled the massive debarkation depot.

And there they stood, at parade rest, for some undeterminable amount of time... awaiting their supposed 'transport'. "Just Like Drill", indeed.

Trey tried to think about how much time he stood there... but couldn't establish any real timeline to base it on.  
It must not have been too long, he reckoned... because he vaguely remembered the sounds of his brother over the comms.

Now, clones... especially, excited ones... can normally be a chatty bunch. At least, over secure comm channels, anyways.

But this, this was different. This... was more like a _BUZZ_... coming through his helmet's speakers, in stereo.  
Even locked away, inside the cocoon of his tramatized mind, Trey somehow still knew something unusual was happening around him.

The vode seemed to be talking all at once.

Trey remembered thinking for a second, as he then... that they were talking about _him!_

On his cot, Trey grasped a little tighter the pillow on the soft mattress next to him... as he was suddenly seized by an echo of his earlier panic.

Opening his eyes, and flashing a 'soldier's glance' around the room... as if, to confirm his surroundings... Trey took in a good, deep, cleansing breath (...of air that didn't smell like sticking _fish_!); and wrapped both arms more securely around his new, fluffy pillow. The billowy fluff may have been unfamiliar, but it did the trick... just as it had when he was a child.

Another quick scan of his surroundings, for added comfort... and then he confidently relaxed again, back into his memories...

Still... he couldn't tell how long the wait, and the buzz-chatter, went on. But, he _did_ remember the moment completely _stopped_.

It was when the previously-in-training, non-existant tranport ship... actually arrived. That's when all comms chatter, came to an immediate halt.

Trey smiled, recalling the sight of it on approach...

She was not exactly the gleaming war-chariot that he had, perhaps... envisioned in his dreams. Boxy and lumbering, it looked more like it was designed to haul crates than soldiers. He even remembered thinking that, maybe... this _wasn't_ their transport ship, after all. Maybe... it was just an escort, or cargo-tender... here for their ammo, and other bulk-gear.

As it slowly grew closer... the scarred, scorched, and micro-dented hull of the 'Sullust Star'...(as per the rather faded lettering, on it's bow-plates identified it); came more fully into view.

The closer it got... Trey recalled fondly; the more it looked to be... just what it appeared. An old, re-tasked, utility freighter. The only thing that was visibly new... was the Winged-Crest of the Republic, freshly-painted amidships.  
No, in retrospect... _not_ a machine fit to ferry the galaxies greatest army into battle.

Not until finally, she came to a halt, and turned fully to port... and began easing her way into the depot's docking area.

Then, at that moment... the 'Sullust Star', was the most _beautiful_ thing Trey had ever seen!

The hushed silence still reigned over comms, as the clones collectively listened to the many unusual creaks, groans, hisses, and knocks... of the vessel they had waited their whole lives to board. Again, it felt like he waited there an eternity... but, again... gratefully; time meant nothing to Trey now... in his recall-world.

When the docking process finally _did_ begin, however...

...and that big, scorch-streaked, durasteel baydoor's seals broke loose...covering the depot floor with a light fog, as it vented its alien atmosphere...

... laced with previously unknown, and unsampled, aromas...

...and, the comms chatter erupted again!

Even now, hours after the real-time event... Treys' heart beat faster, as he lay in his bunk; reliving in his memory... that happy moment.

His helmet was flooded with garbled shouts, and eager oaths. Trey knew what every clone (besides himself) was busily flooding the comms trying to talk about... even if he couldn't make out their actual phrases...

_FREEDOM!_

For the first time in their short lives, the clones were about to step onto a whole new world!

Or at least... the vessel that would take them there, anyways.

It didn't matter _where_ there were going, or _what_ might become of them when they got there... they were finally _going!_

Somewhere... besides, cruel Kamino. _Anywhere_... but under the mercilessly-exacting scrutiny of the Kaminoans.

To some clones... this moment, may have only marked the beginning of their life's purpose. The next 'phase' in their lifetime as warriors. But, to them all... it meant something more...

...it meant liberation.

No matter what fates the galaxy had in store for them... at least they wouldn't be terminated (or worse... 'reconditioned'; Trey shivered); by some creepy-eyed, icy-voiced 'aihwa-bait'.

'Aihwa-bait'... that was another colorful example of the clones' adopted, Mandalorian-tongue. It warmed Trey's chill, to say it... 'Aihwa-bait'. Yes... that's what Kaminoans were, alright. 'Aihwa-bait'.

The sudden thought... of putting a Kaminoan on a giant hook... and dunk it into the frigid, frothy waters of its own homeworld... to be nibbled on by Kamino's massive, indiginous, aquatic predators...

That, pleased Trey even more. He held on to that little fantasy for a second or two, then went back into his own... more recent, and more enjoyable... history.

The alien ship's cargo ramp slowly opened, wider and wider.

A chorus of steamy hisses, accented by occasional creaks and bangs... coming from age-worn hinge-couplings, and cooling exhaust ports. To Trey, they trumpeted his graduation... from 'Kaminoan-cloned-unit'... to '_Soldier..._ of the _Grand Army of the Republic'!_

"This is _IT_!"... Trey inhaled deeply as he relived it all. His half-clothed body... still leaning back on his bunk... tensed, at the feeling he had then; of wanting to _run_ up the baording-ramp, the instant that it landed.

Trey let the exhileration of it fill him, again.

Finally... the heavy dura-steel door contacted the white, polished floor... filling the room with a resounding, _'BOOM!'_; that vibrated across the solid floor beneath them.

Almost in unison, every trooper in the awaiting formation... flinched.

The slight clacking of armored plates instantly ceased, however... as the clones swiftly reclaimed their military dicipline.  
The ugly, grey 'technician', its unsettling grey eyes scanning over the...'units'; reminded them all, even the eagerst amongst the clones... of where they still were.  
CT-3033... and every other _product_ of Kaminoan Cloning... were guaranteed to perform to specs. And 'delivery', hadn't been accepted by the client... not yet.

Again... time, disobeyed order... and Trey had no concept of how long he had to wait there. With his destiny so close...

So close, now... he could actually _SMELL_ it!

After what had seemed then, like hours (although, due to his earlier time-check... and recalculation to GAR Galatic-Zulu Time; Trey figured now to have been only about twenty minutes); eventually, his group did begin its march forward.

When it was at last Trey's turn to board... (he relished it all over again); he realized that every micro-second of his life, until now... and many, even before that; had all been rigidly structured towards the sole purpose him taking his very next step.

He almost froze up... right then, and there. Here, and now... Trey's chest tightened, in reaction.

And even now, far... and getting farther... away from all of his worst fears; Trey had to make his leg muscles move... as he had to make himself move forward before... to trigger the continuation of events.

Here now, on his bunk, safely aboard the 'Sullust Star'... Trey's out-stretched right-leg twitched, slightly.

Back on Kamino, uncertain and afraid, and still under the merciless judgement of the Kaminoans... Trey lifted the same right leg... and planted its boot down; onto the hard, vibrating deckplate of some dilapidated old freighter.

And THAT was all it took.

All questions of... _'who AM I?_', or... _'what should I do?'_; were eliminated.

Trey's purpose became instantly clear... he was a soldier. Who was _finally_ going to war!

Like walking through some mysterious, alien-built portal... (from one of Quays' favored, contraband 'sci-fi' holozines); Trey's first step onto the Sullust Star's lowered boarding ramp... transported him instantly...

...into a wonderful, new universe! One filled, with the promise of excitement... and danger... and, mystery...

And,... GLORY!

Compaired to the ultra-sterilized halls of Topica City... the Sullust Star was dank, and dirty... and _REAL_! Its long light-years of extended use had definitely left their marks.  
No... it was nothing at all like the pristine world, that was everything a freshly-trained clone, knew.  
And that, is what Trey loved about it the most!

They had been 'flash-trained', of course... about all kinds of vessels, and lifeforms, and planets, and... and... and...

But, actually _seeing_, and _feeling_, and _breathing-in_ it all...

...all the new smells, and sounds, and colors inside the alien vessel... overriding the stale, over-purified, Kaminoan air; that was all the clones had ever tasted...

...it, was like a spell. ("I have _GOT_ to stop giving Quay those holos!", Trey mused.)  
One that, Trey could tell... had fallen upon each and every one of his fellow troopers. As soon as their booted heels crossed over the transport ship's grimy threshold.

Trey did, he decided... had to give it to whoever wrote those idiotic stories. The effect that single step, WAS similar to what he had heard his brother whisper to him between their ranks as kids.

He allowed a flash of a memory to interupt, and play out for a moment. It was... of he and Quay, tucked under their berthing-issued blankets, back on Kamino; as small children. Tactical torches... affixed with with ultra-low light, crimson lenses, of course... clutched in their tiny hands as they gazed in wonder at the images covering the rumpled scrap of flimsi Quay had come back to the barracks with earlier that evening. Somehow, Trey never knew where... Quay had managed to sneak it past bed-check inspection; and now... they were wondrously exploring his amazing piece of 'treasure' (as Quay had called it, Trey recalled fondly) of the outside galaxy. Not knowing what the consequences would be, if they got caught... only added to the thrill; at least it did then... to two young boys. They couldn't quite read yet, the strange markings inside the bubbles that floated above the character's heads... and so, for years until they could... Quay made up his own stories, to go along with the jumble of images.

Trey had to admit, even after they _could_ read them... sometimes, he enjoyed Quay's versions better! Another image flashed across Trey's mind, then... one of his brother, Quay... sitting at a large, lighted table of some sort... and drawing out the fantasy stories he loved so much (and, so clearly had a talent for;) onto huge, empty sheets of flimsi.

It was only a glimmer... but it left Trey feeling hopeful (even now) that he would, one day... see it for real.

He let the empty screen on the theatre of his mind be again, returned to the more current events he was previously viewing. With a shift of his torso, for comfort... his mind resumed its replay. It was easy for Trey to fall back into...

Every trooper, in his own mind... had wondered, and dreamt; of this moment. For as long as their genetically-enhanced memories could recall.

This was _'The DAY!'... _finally come.

And, now... they each had physically taken their first step _off_ of the only world they had ever known.

And, their first step _on_... to the path of their long prepared-for destinies.

The first thing Trey remembered feeling... was, all fears... including those of the Kaminoan-technicians... vanished!

Trey remember the hold they had over him... over his very existence... but now, it seemed as if it were a bad dream.

Opening his eyes... to peek again, at the chrono... Trey listened for Quay in the sani-steam. It seemed he had finally left the steamer... perhaps, he couldn't actually 'use up the entire ships' water supply', as he had claimed. Now, his high voice was singing.  
Thankfully, being muffled by the lav's closed door... Trey mused. No one could withstand it at full volume... except for Deuce; oddly. His, deeper, slower words, could also now be heard through the thin metal door.

Poor Oni, Trey thought... he hoped for Oni's sake... that his oldest brother had duties elsewhere, at the moment.

Glad that Duece was keeping Quay occupied... and deciding to put aside trying to pawn him off on Duece just yet; Trey re-closed his eyes... and returned to his wanderings.

The sounds of his brothers... talking easily... and not in harm's way; were precious notes to Treys ears. They felt it, too... he knew. Even without asking.

They were finally on their way!

No more training, no more lectures, no more... simulations, (however realistically lethal)... No more 'tinkering' by the Kaminoans... No more kriffing waiting...

It was finally time to _stop_ being Kaminoan _'cloned-units'_... and _start_ being GAR-_TROOPERS!_

"_This..._ is what's been missing!", Trey remembered, the revelation hitting him. He even let his lips move, as recited his own past-words now... in synchronicity with his memories.

"The one thing I wasn't getting, was the one thing I have been preparing for my entire life... _WAR!"_

Yes... it was all so, simple. Now.

"After all...", he re-uttered proudly. "War, is what I was created for!"

He was a warrior! He belonged on a battlefield! Not, in some cage... being raised like farmed-nuna... on gloomy, sunless Kamino.  
Far... too far... from the glorious galactic-battlefields he had been bred for.

Trey sneered now, at the thought of the Kaminoan 'master' cloning technicians. "Bug-eyed, _'di'kute'_!", he scorned.  
"They may have gotten the metallurgy right," he mused sarcastically. "But, then... the kriffing idiots almost let us meltdown in the forge!"

Yes... he knew now, where any 'defect' in him, had come from... 'master' crafters, indeed.

It was all their fault... that he had 'lost it'. Those incompetent fools had kept him... an engineered machine of warfare... idle, and impotent, for far too long.

His place was here!

In the _real_ galaxy... on his way to a _real_ war! Mentally, Trey grasped tightly to the certainty that being _here_... _NOW_; gave him inside.  
_"This..._ after all, he reasoned. "Is the _only_ reason I exist!

That knowledge... was like a stim-shot, right to his very soul.

And, it was... he suddenly realized... exactly as his training sergeants, had said it would be. Their words now, came floating back to him, from early-on in his training.

"Waitin' for the shootin' to start can drive you barvy, but once it does...", their Mandalorian medic/hand-to-hand combat -instructor, used to say. "Suddenly, all the osik that might be foggin' up your view... gets blown away... and then, _that's_ when you'll know you're _exactly_ where you're _meant_ to be!"

Trey should never have doubted their words. It was their guidance... and wisdom... that had gotten him, and his brothers, through the hellish trials of Kamino.

Trey vowed to himself... and them... that he would never forget their teachings again.

"Yes...", he reaffirmed. "_that_ was the problem. Just, too much... _training!_"

Trey, now even laughed at himself, a bit... dismissing his childish insecurities. Trey even felt a little foolish. Now, more than ever... he was glad he _hadn't_ shared his fears with his brothers. They would have laughed at him!

The fact that... perhaps it was because all of _his_ pod-mates had survived their training... _together_; that made it easier for Trey to shelter his mind from the lethality... and terror... that had been for so long, all he had ever known. For whatever reason, he quite saw it _that_ way. But that... was then... and now, he felt renewed. A being again, with a purpose and a destiny.

It was, indeed, to Trey's remembrance... like drinking some 'magical tonic'; (again... Quay's recitements of his blasted, holo-comics)... stepping onto that(this) ship. It acted to remove the curse that plagued him... and left him feeling more his old self than he had in months. Each new step into this 'new world', effectively, stripped away his fears one by one, as Trey strode deeper into the ship.

By the time he reached his spot on the deck, all previous thoughts of being 'defective', were completely gone. He knew, with more and more confidence than ever, that _this_ was where he belonged. It felt more right to him than anything he had ever felt... no matter how timely, or _'spooky'_ (as Duece referred to his brothers _'senses'_).

Trey chose, finally... in that moment, there on his cot, aboard the 'Sullast Star'... to ignore his 'inner-voice', forever. It was a childish game... like any others he had played... and discarded... as he grew. Besides... now that he thought about it... his _inner-whispers;_ always told him there was something _wrong!_

_ This_, being here... this was instantly _right!_

Letting his confidence float him... Trey returned to enjoying his memories of , what turned out to be... the best day of his life. Easily, he drifted back into unreal time.

Standing there in formation, awaiting berthing and duty assignments, Trey remembered sneaking a hand up... and letting the unfamiliar smells and sounds of a real-life spaceship waft through his now, opened... armors enviro-filter systems.

The full dose of it... its heady, musty scent; assaulted his over-sterilized senses. Like a narcotic, it made his head spin slightly, and his body feel equally numb-ish.

Adding to it... the humming 'thrummm' of the ships atmospheric drives, traveled through the soles of his boots, and up his legs. It seemed to grip him in a gentle, steady massage.  
Meanwhile, its simultaneously soothing low-freq sound threatened to lull him to sleep.

Just as he had then, Trey inhaled deeply... only then, it was to shake off his gathering ennui... and get himself sorted. Before he dropped out of formation, right there on Kamino. He'd have woken up back in Topica... in some Kaminoans lab... if he ever woke up at all.

His stomach turned, as he remembered what had aided him then. The realization that, the ship's stabilizers were having trouble keeping it stable in the turbulent Kaminoan atmosphere... causing the ship to sway slightly... in seemingly, random directions.

A frown was followed by a swallow, as Trey recalled his fear that he might vomit inside his helmet.  
What a nugget of personal history _that_ would have been!  
He still wouldn't have removed it, of course... the lure of leaving Kamino alone was worth the discomfort!

"Besides," he said to himself, like a grizzled veteran. "It's not like I haven't done it before."

The next thing he remembered, was the last sight of Kamino... through the Sullust Star's closing cargobay door. Like a holo-pic... it is frozen forever, in his mind.

_Only better!_

Holo-pics won't let you fully relive the sights, and smells, and sounds, and... the _feel_... of it all.  
Trey returned willingly to his non-holo-imaged memories.

Burnt lub-oil and scorched-exhaust fumes, mingled with more usual scents... those related to being in the close, physical presence of a multitude of unfamiliar lifeforms.  
The holo's and vid's used in their flash-training hadn't accurately relayed to him the truth of the subtle depths and shades of the galaxies lifeforms.  
His eyes still marveled at their many various colors, and textures... when he happened upon them in the passageways while going about his duties.

Back then... he had noted more than one white-helmeted head, failing to keep parade-ground formation. Several, turned and tilted... their over-eager wearers trying take in everything, and everyone, onboard.

Years of snapping to attention, as an automatic response of self-preservation... served Trey well, as his peripheral vision caught the same action being taken by the soldier next to him. With true soldier's discipline, he refocused... enough to notice the clone-officer striding toward to head of his squad's formation.

Trey recalled idly wondering... what sort of officer would this be? Is he a Pacer...? Or, a Statue?  
It was a little game he had played since he was very small. In fact, it may very well have been Trey's first ever memory, of 'playing'.

Forgoing the side-to-side pace that some officers favored while addressing troops, this one (a Lieutenant by his blue markings), elected to stand still... (ah-HA!... a Speaker...); with his arms straight at his sides... while screaming his orders, at the top of his lungs.

As if, he were trying to be heard over a full-on, orbital barrage. Or, perhaps... reporting the results of a latrine inspection, to a superior intentionally ignoring him... on the other side of the parade ground.

Trey wondered at the man's audible range, thinking perhaps his hearing had been damaged... as the unknown officer's high-pitched voice squelched through both the command-channel comms... _and_, his discretely-opened, air-vent holes.

He clicked his left molars several times to lower the volume of his comms. At least, that was something he could do to ease his discomfort without moving.

"Watch rotations, battle stations, and duty rosters will be posted in your assigned berthing sections. Berthing assignments should be uploaded to your armor's HUDs... now." His squelch grew a little higher, and scratchier.

"Squad leaders report to your Company Commanders upon completion of berthing assignments, and health-inspection readiness!"

With a slight 'snap-to'... the offensive officers' audible-assault concluded.

_"Company... DISS-MISSED!"_

The unit heads gathered to excitedly receive their orders, so Trey took off his helmet, and looked around amongst the throngs of mixing troopers.

It was instant chaos. He was surrounded by a swarm of moving troopers.

Turning back, he noticed that Deuce... who was just standing next to him... was now, nowhere to be found.  
Just as was wishing that he too, could sneak off somewhere quiet for awhile... someone, came up behind him... and tapped him on the opposite side of his armor.

Turning a full circle... Trey finally found himself face-to-face, with his sergeant; standing innocently beside him. Like Trey, he had removed his own 'bucket'... but unlike Trey, Oni had attached his to the back of his belt. Trey, still held his under his left arm.

Oni's absence headgear, also revealed a 'Hutt's-grin', (as Sgt. Skirata had called his own... the one Oni now mimicked;) spread across his glowing face.

"So," Trey recalled thinking... in jest. "It seems that even 'Mr. Regulations' is just as moved by our change in duty-status, as the rest of us."

Then, just as he had earlier, Quay walked right into the wrong moment.  
Poor Quay... who had just strolled over to tell Trey about something exciting... only noticed their sergeant standing next to him after it was too late to make a hurried get-away.

This time... by opening the 'fresher door, and walking into his, and Trey's, room... just after Trey had '_launched an arial assault_'.

_"AWW, MAN!... C'MON!"_ Trey snickered as his little brother blundered into his 'trap'.

"Trey... aw, man!...", a peek revealed Quay... flapping his towel around, trying to move the befouled air away from his side of the cabin.

"Breathe it in, little brother...", Trey said proudly. "That's the smell of victory!" "When you're a just can't..." he keep all the... _GLORY_... inside!", he boasted.

Quay covered his mouth, and rolled his eyes... muttering something.

"Bask in it, Quay... it's okay to enjoy the splendor, _BASK IN IT!"_

From behind his towel-covered face, his little brother gave Trey another 'unauthorized-salute'... and stomped back into the 'fresher.

As soon as Trey heard the door slam shut... (followed by Deuce's insulted cry of _'Hey!.. I'm in here!'_); he quickly grasped the pillow in his lap... and used it to cover his own face.

His unintentional 'trap'... had backfired.

As he coughed, and tried to inhale some pillow-filtered air... Trey let his mind conclude replaying the last bits of the 'best part' of his day.

7... or so, hours ago; the trap Quay had been ensnared by was...

Before Trey could say anything to warn-off his newly-arrived, little brother... Oni reached up and draped an armored arm over Trey's deflating shoulders. Simultaneously, he reached out with his other, unencumbered hand... and ensnared Quay, as well.  
With a grimace, CT-3034 reluctantly stumble-stepped backwards a few paces... with Oni's assistance... to be returned, only more sullenly... next to his co-captured brother's side.

"Hey, you two...", their sergeant said... with that ominously self-satisfied air, that _never_ boded well for his underlings.

"I've got a little _job_ for you..."

...


	7. Chapter 7

**...**

_ "Of course... we do expect **some** casualties, General... But then, that **i****s** why the Jedi ordered so **many** of us, isn't it?"_

**_ -Clone Commander, CO-3004... 'Doff'... to his new Jedi Master-General,_ _moments__ before the campaign on Ord Pardron-_**

**...**

**Chap7-**

** Leaning** out of the opened sidedoor of a shiny, new LAAT/I... or '_Larty_' as the men dubbed them in training... Trey's dark hair blew around wildly, as his squinting eyes took in the rapidly passing blurr of colors that made up the passing landscape below. This was his first sub-orbital view of any world other than rainy, miserable Kamino. With it's vast desert regions... split by high, rocky mountain ranges and crossed with wide, empty riverflows. He wished for the Larty to slow down some... so he could enjoy more the experience. But, he also knew... that when the assault-craft finally _did_ slow it's pace... his first _actual_ baptism of fire, would also... finally commence.

Even to an 'ultra-trained' rookie, (which was exactly what Trey was...) this moment rattled the nerves. It wasn't a feeling like '_excitement_', or '_fear_'... it was somehow a mixture of the two, powerful emotions. He could feel the adrenaline running through his veins... leaving him cold, and jittery; along with s_omething_ _else_, he couldn't identify. It's effects were _similar _to fear... but not exactly. The best way to describe his current state was... ready to fight, flee, vomit, and pee!

In a sudden, 'Deuce-like' flash... Trey wondered... how many _other_ things, that he and his brethren, had not yet had a chance to experience... felt like, _this..? _

After so much anticipation, he figured any being would be subject a certain level of anxiety. He was sure, it was nothing to be concerned about... but still...

To take his sight off of the semi-nauseating rush of Ord Pardron... and his weird, minds wanderings... Trey turned his eyes upwards; to the not-so-distant horizon of stormclouds... that seemed to be getting darker, and closer; as they flew on. These were different than the ones on always-gloomy Kamino, however. On Kamino... there was never any real _light_... for the gathering darkness to dominate... and then, devour.

But here, against the contrasting sun-brightened desert lands... Trey could see how the light gave way, in its' promises of warmth and joy... in submission to its inevitable defeat. Momentarily mesmerized, Trey lost himself in the growing spectacle before him. Of the wrath of the skies' vengeful darkness... that loomed evermore steadily, above the cowering, quickly shadowing, land.

These dark, roiling masses... streaked now and then, with angry flashes of lightning... seemed to touch something deep... and dark... within Trey, as he gazed in wonder at their power.

Standing next to him, completely forgotten for the moment... was Deuce. Forgotten, that is... until he nudged his brother, to get his attention. Once Trey had been shaken from his daze enough to turn, and look at his brother... Deuce turned to fully face him also... crossing his big arms over his chest plate.

Now, when fully armored, all clone troopers are intimidating. Each and everyone (who made it past the Kaminoans), were big, fit specimens of the human gemone. Added to their muscular frame, the bulky, automation-assisted plates of dura-steel/plastoid alloy... that cocooned them... all clone-troopers were _meant_ to be impressive. But Duece, somehow... took it to a different level.  
Although engineered to the same exacting standards as every other, something about him gave him the appearance of being larger. Of course, he wasn't... Trey knew that. He'd seen the measurement results. And, the Kaminoan engineers would never have allowed even an excessive millimeter or kilo, to fail to meet up to specs.

He would have made a great sergeant, if only...

One thing they didn't seem to modify, unfortunately for his military career... was Deuce's _odd_ sense of curiousity.

"What you think they call us?", he wonderously asked his little brother.

His 'big' brother's sudden bursts of eloquetion no longer caught Trey off-guard, though. Deuce was just... Deuce. He would seemingly go days without making an unrequired sounds... and then, without any obvious prompting or cause... his 'older' brother would openly and innocently inquire, or add comment; as if he had been thinking about nothing else, the entire time.

Caught off-guard... Trey took a second to provide any answer. "What do I think _who_ calls us?", Trey finally responded.

"The enemy. You know... the 'tinnies'.", his older sibling reasoned. "That's what we call them. I wonder if they have a name for us?"

Trey looked at his brother for a moment, then shook his head. Good ole Deuce. "I dunno what they call us now, if anything." he answered. "But, I'm sure they'll be calling you 'the garbage man'... after you start sending them back to the scrap heap!"

His brothers helmet bobbed up and down a few times, and Trey could imagine the silly grin Deuce carried on his hidden face.

Then he reached over, and 'double-tapped' Trey, hard... in the chest-plate... with his gauntleted fist.. "And don't fret so much, little brother...", Deuce's visored-mask turned back to the passing landscape before he concluded. "I haven't kept you alive _this_ long, just for you to _glitch-out_ on me now!"

He added a final, brotherly 'love-tap'... to puntucate his affection.

Always somewhat left unsure of what to say, in monents like this... Trey lamely threw out an all-encompassing, _"Copy that."_

For distraction from the dizzying rush of 's flora... and Dueces un-nerving muses... he looked around the cabin to find Oni... currently helping Quay adjust his extra ammo-pack. Trey took a smidgen of fraternally-sadistic joy from hearing his little brothers shouted complaints.

"Hey... _ouch! _It doesn't have to be so_ tight,_ _Oni!... Oww, c'mon, Sarge...!"_

Fretting over every little thing was Oni's way of handling stress, and Trey was grateful that Quay had been the one Oni had selected to bother over. Trey couldn't suppress his grin.

Catching his brothers' amused gaze, Quay slipped a gloved hand behind his back, away from their sergeants view, and discreetly issued his brother a 'one-fingered-salute', as sergeant Kal Skirata had once put it. Chuckling, Trey returned the courtesy in-kind.

Any further discourse with Quay was interrupted, however... as Oni suddenly grabbed their youngest brother, and jerked him upright to face him... Quay's back now turned to Trey. Poor, poor Quay... Oni must have caught his non-regulation hand signals. While Quay endured... what looked to Trey to be a _SERIOUS_ dressing-down from Oni... Trey wistfully returned to his searching of the open, alien skies.

Soon, Oni... appearantly satisfied with readying his _other _wayward charge... appeared in the doorway next to him. Trey took his eldest brother in with a sideways glance, as they stood together for the moment in mutual silence. Trey actual hoped his sergeant _wouldn't_ say anything... because Trey was at a loss, as to what Oni might be thinking.

Oni had been acting strangely lately. His normal, gung-ho attitude seemed to have taken a blow... as if he had seen, or done something that drastically altered him, inside. Perhaps, it was simply all of the recent changes they had gone through... Oni had done his best to maintain the 'status-quo'. But a lot had happened onboard the 'Sullust Star' on the way over... a lot that Oni had never been trained to handle.

He was now more sullen, and yet, more intense. His temper... always on a short-leash... now ran the gambit, at seemingly any provocation. For last few days, Oni had even been disappearing for hours at a time... telling no one where or why. Trey even suspected Oni was _LYING_ about where he had been!

Most recently... 'Mr. Regulations' was even _late_ for a pre-mission muster! _THIS_ mission! Trey worried about his brother... for these, were _not_ 'Oni' traits. But, now wasn't the right time to ask him about it. Right now, Trey had enough of his own to deal with.

Although he hadn't been bothered by any 'voices' or 'feelings' since they had left Kamino... and he was glad that he hadn't... he began to wonder if, maybe... he _needed_ those instincts. That neither he, nor his brothers, would be alive today... if he hadn't headed his inner-whisperings.

What if... he wasn't good enough, without it?!

This troubling train of thought was thankfully derailed, by his sergeant's unfavorable critique of their new environs... "Ugly... isn't it?"

Trying to lighten his brother's heavy-mood some, Trey tilted his head as he looked back out at the harsh, blurry, Ord Pardronian tundra... and replied.

"Well, it's still not uglier than Deuce, so..."

Without so much as a nod, to acknowledge the joke... Oni leaned out a bit from the open doorway... then returned safely back inside, shaking his head. A moment of contemplation later, he turned away from the streaming hues of browns and greys... and with a wave of his gloved hand, motioning for Trey to join him.

As Trey followed his sergeant out into the hatchway, Oni suddenly stopped, and turned to face him... then yanked off his armored glove... and _slapped_ Trey solidly, across his unprotected face!

The sting was as sharp, as the blow was unexpected. Trey turned with the impact, his cheek on fire... and raised his empty hands up, as a feeble shield against further attack.

His sergeant then leaned in, getting nose-to-nose, and spoke sharply, yet quietly... "Listen Brother, we're about to go into the Meat House... _for real_!", Oni informed him. "I don't know what's been wrong with you lately, but I need you to get yourself sorted _now_, Trooper."

When Trey didn't respond, Oni tried a different tactic. "We each depend on one another, right? I need to know I can depend on you." Tilting his helmet to the side, he asked. "I _can..._ _can't I?"_

All Trey could manage was a nod. He was afraid that if he spoke, Oni would hear a whisper of uncertainty in his voice, and scrub him from the mission. Given Oni's recent bouts of unpredictability... Trey didn't want to take any chances. Trey knew he could be replaced with some other, unfamiliar, random trooper... like one of the 'plug&amp;play' accessories for his Decee.

Clone-troopers could do that, thats why they were all identical... in theory. But Trey knew that any other clone wouldn't be _him_... wouldn't know his brothers thoughts under fire... wouldn't care for them as he would, if they were hurt.

That's why Trey couldn't just 'be replaced'... not to his pod-brothers, anyway. Surely, none of them could be so easily 'swapped-out'... not to him, anyway.

As if in response to his ponderings, Oni grabbed Trey in a tight-headlock... rubbing his knuckles into Trey's scalp... affectionately, but still painful.

"You'll be fine, Little Brother..." Oni tried reassure Trey, or maybe even himself. "Now, lets go get our gear dirty!" The 'pep-talk' ended with a playful shove, and Oni walking back into the crowded cargobay.

He was right, of course. This was what they had trained for... _fierfek... _it was what he had been _created _for! To be the finest soldier ever to walk upon the field of battle. Soon now, it would be time to test how well the Kaminoans... and their Mandalorian-hirelings... had done in achieving that goal.

Yes, he re-affirmed... training was far behind. And war, lay just ahead. His brothers would need him now more than ever.

Trey focused on that, above all else... keeping his brothers alive. That was his overriding purpose, his reason to perform... his sacred mission. Nothing else mattered.

He was a _Clone Trooper_, and... he would perform to specs. Simple. It was an act of will... like shutting out pain... and he had been well-trained in how to do that.  
Slowly, the humming seemed to fade into the background, more and more replaced by the sounds of the hot, dry wind whislting through the cargobay... and the familiar rattle of the Lartys popping engines.

After completing his check of the rest of the squads gear, Oni went and stood next to Deuce, in the open doorway.

The flashing of blaster bolts and smoking from exsposions of the awaiting battle... could now be seen racing towards them. The Larty began to slow.

Soon, the sounds of the conflict joined the sights... as the transport drew ever closer to the bedlam. The Larty next, decelerated hard... and began to drop, very swiftly. Before Treys' stomach had a chance to return from his neck, to his gut... the acrid smoke, and heat, and screams... reached inside of the cabin; beckoning him... to take his place amongst the fray.

Oni leaned over to Trey and yelled, before finally affixing his helm... "You ready to kick some cans, trooper?"

Trey scanned the cargobay... looking at the men gathered there, confidently, with him. Men just like him. Soldiers. "No... not just soldiers", he amended.

"..._T__roopers!"_

Trey eased his white-armored helmet deliberately into place... as he symbolically pushed his uncertainties to rest.

He checked the Tibhaana-gas charge on his Decee-15's ammo clip, then decisively... slammed it home. The resulting 'click and whine', confirming the weapon was fully-loaded and primed-to-fire, served also to underscored Trey's affirming reply...

"CT-3033... Ready for Duty, Sergeant."

...


	8. Chapter 8

**...**

_"It fits fine, Sarge..."_  
_"No, it doesn't! Would you hold still?"_  
_(HE-HE-HE!) "HEY!... C'mon, STOP!" (HA-HA-HA-HA!) "STOP, ###... that TICKLES!"_  
_"When are you going to GROW UP, and stop playing around?"_  
_"It's not MY fault... you KNOW how ticklish I am!"_  
_"Well... if you would pay attention, instead of giggling all the kriffing time... you would've put it on right in the first place!"_  
_"It IS on right! C'mon, what's going on with you, ###? You're acting more 'BARVVY' than normal... what's up?"_  
_"Maybe I'm just tired of all your insubordination, PRIVATE!"_  
_"Sorry, SERGEANT... I'm just excited, you know? Just trying to have a little fun with it!"_  
_"We're not here to 'have fun'."_  
_"I know, I know..., okay? Look... now it's sorted, alright? Oh hey, by the way... what happened to you earlier, before we left the ship?"_  
_"Nothing happened... I'm fine."_  
_"Were you actually LATE for the mission-briefing?"_  
_"No... but, now I know that YOU were! Or else, you'd know if I was or not... now, wouldn't you?"_  
_(mumbled)"...yes..."_  
_"What...?"_  
_"Yes, sir."_  
_"Better. Okay, then. No report, but... no dessert, for a week."_  
_"Awww! C'mon, 'vode... it's Gamoorian spice-cake tonight! I LOVE that stuff!"_  
_"Tough."_  
_"Gimme' a break this time, ###... okay? I'm just hyped! This is 'IT'! We're finally going into the 'OSIK'!"_  
_"Then you should be thinking less about the menu, and more about the mission."_  
_"Why...? They'll both be cake!"_  
_"Listen ####... this ISN'T a KRIFFING GAME!"_  
_"What are you so worried about? We can't lose... we're the best soldiers in the galaxy! REMEMBER?"_  
_"We weren't sent here to 'WIN', ####! And, we aren't 'SOLDIERS', either..."_  
_"What do you mean? What are we, ###? If we aren't soldiers?"_  
_(pause...)_  
_"We're KILLERS, ####... THAT'S what we are! Because that's what we're DESIGNED, CREATED... and then, FORCED to be! Now, it's time... to go DO... what we were PURCHASED to do. You can laugh about it, AFTER... IF, you still want to."_

_**\- exchange between an anonymous Clone Trooper, and his Sergeant... just before going into battle for the first time-**_

**...**

**Chap8-**

** The** dusty, barren, wind-swept plains of Ord Pardron may not have looked like much... certainly not, from orbit... and even less so from here, on the ground. But, An'ador Axlum... newly appointed Knight of the Jedi Order, and 'General' of the newly-formed 'Grand Army of the Republic'; saw it as the birthplace of his destiny!

Since he was a youngling... scurrying around the Jedi Temple, he had spent his quiet time, not in meditation... but, in the Archives. Reading of the tales of the Jedis', more glorious past. His personal hero was Jedi Master Hoth, General of the Jedi's fabled 'Army of Light'. General Hoth had formed the legendary host, in order to defeat the insidious evil of the Sith Lord Kaans' own host of malvolent force-users... the infamous 'Brotherhood of Darkness'.  
On the normally insignificant mid-rim world of Ruusaan, Hoth and Kaan led thier Jedi and Sith armies against each other into one final battle... to decide the ultimate fate of the Republic, and of the Force.

Two sides... Jedi and Sith, light and dark... eventually fought themselves to a stalemate. In a mad gambit for victory, Lord Kaan lured his minions into some caves to invoke some ancient Sith ritual that Kaan hoped would destroy the advancing Jedi. Hoth, however... thwarted the Dark Lords' plans. By sacrificing his own life. In order to force Kaans hand, Hoth... followed by one hundred of his most loyal Jedi... bravely marched down into the caverns, knowing they would never return.

When the mad Kaan unleashed his sinister spell... he, along with every other Sith Lord in the Brotherhood... were instantly obliterated. Taking Hoth, and the Brave 100... with them.  
Honor, Sacrifice... and _Glory!_ _THAT_, was the legacy... of the great Jedi General Hoth.

It was everything... to An'ador, at least... that young Jedi drempt of.

Until the recent events on Geonosis, however... he had feared he would never get the chance. Peace had reigned for the past millinea, and their was no glory to be won, during peacetime. And even so, it wouldn't have mattered to An'ador. _HE_, was still stuck as a padawn then... and only Knights and Masters, were allowed to prove their mettle in combat.

But, just as An'ador was preparing to take his trails of knighthood... again... the Force intervened.

Geonosis, happened. And, the 'clone wars' (as Master Yoda had supoosedly dubbed the conflict), began.

Suddenly... the Order needed more Knights, to lead the promised armies of the Republic, to victory. And so, his trails were suspended. The Council had decreed that ALL padawans, of age to be advanced... were to be Knighted, and given commisions in the new GAR.

The Force, it seemed... was indeed... with An'ador Axlum.

Standing here, now... before a cave system very much like the one (in his mind, anyways;), that the Great General Hoth... had once so valiantly led his 'Brave 100 Points of Light' into, so long ago; An'Ador imagined... that hidden deep, somewhere, within the darkness below... his own 'glorious destiny', awaited him.

After his victories here, on distant Ord Pardron... An'ador vowed to himself that he would go, to see personally... the monument on Ruusaan; to General Hoth, and his Brave 100. Erected there, by the General's last Jedi-padawan... in honor of his fallen master.

"Yes," An'ador confirmed to himself. "I'll have a monument, too... one day.", he envisioned. "A statue, perhaps." He could see it all now.

Only a few small facts, stood between his _FIRST_ act of valor... and the _LAST_, of his illustrious idol.

A thousand years ago... General Hoth, leader of the famed Army of Light... was on a crusade to rid the galaxy of the scrurge of the Dark Side!  
An'Ador, on the other hand... was under orders to crawl through an ancient mine-shaft... supposedly searching for a 'rumored' CIS weapons dump.

Jedi Master Hoth, had also had under his command... the Brave 100... his shining, 'Points of Light'. Dedicated comrades, who had nobley sacrificing their lives... right alongside their General... to eradicate the Sith, forever.  
"Meanwhile, I..." he commiserated. "Will be leading a troupe of unfamiliar, untested...'clones'... into history."

Not exactly, he added silently... the one-hundred loyal, and battle-hardened, warrior-Jedi... who faithfully followed General Hoth.  
But, he figured... it was a start.

"It is the will of the Force, that I lead these... 'men'...", An'ador reassured himself. While wondering if, indeed... 'men', was what 'clones' were. He didn't really know. He'd never even, actually... asked.  
"It doesn't matter...," his destiny whispered, seductively. "_YOU_... are bound for _GREATNESS!_ And so, _THEY_... will follow you!"

Eager to begin claiming, his righful place amongst the Jedi of Legend... Jedi General Axlum turned on his heel, and marched triumphantly, upwards... to the crest of the small hill behind him... to stand at the head, of his unseen legions.

...


	9. Chapter 9

_ "The 'droid' does not feel fear or frustration... hunger, or pain... compassion, or comradeship. It requires no clothing, or training, no moral-boosts, nor medical care. Nor, are they ever disobedient, dissident, or in consideration of betrayal. That is why, my dear Chairman... we will use the droid to free ourselves from the suffocating grip of the Republic!"_

_** -Sith Lord Count Dooku... addressing San Hill, Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan... and the newly founded 'Separatist Council', on Raxus Prime -**_

**...**

**Chap9-**

** After** only a few, dull minutes of standing there in formation... with Ord Pardrons' ugly, brown wind-blown dust, coating their once-splendidly polished armor... the enamure of _'popping-their-cherries'_ (as Treys' buddy from the 33rd Airborne... dubbed 'Meat', (Trey didn't ask why)... had called their first, true test-of-arms) had quickly worn off.

Soon, the squad-comms began to come alive.

"What are we waiting for... _nightfall_?", came one sarcastic inquiry. The fact that, they were all about to go into a cave... was the punchline to the joke. It would be dark inside there, no matter what time of day they entered.

The chorus of accompanying laughter confirmed... everyone got it, alright. "Nah...", another brother chimed in. "The kriffin' tinnies are late... they're still 'under construction'!"

Again, laughter ensued. After it had runs it's course, however... a less jovial current emerged.

"Seriously, what's the hold-up? Are our chrono's still set for _Kamino_...? Or, is our new 'general'... still stuck on _'Temple-time'...?"_

Another bout of insubordinate snickering, but this time... it was accompanied by a rather fair share of grumbled agreements.

From their tone, to some of the troopers, at least... their new Jedi 'general', wasn't making much of a first impression. And, making them wait around... after getting all 'geared &amp; gutted-up'... definately wasn't helping.

Thier mystery-commanders' pre-reception, Trey decided... would be uncertainly mixed. But, one thing was for certain. _This_ moment, had been _TOO_ long in the coming... for the troopers to be sitting around on their _'shebs'_... waiting on the rapidly approaching weather.

The voices of dissention didn't last long, however. Because finally, it seemed... their tardy-leader had decided... that it was time to take command of his men.

Trey silently listened on, to his brothers' jibes and litanies... and wondered; how Quay, of all troopers... could be still holding his tongue at this point? But, just as he was about to open a private-channel, to ask if his little brother was okay...

...from a trooper, standing on the opposite side of the formation, came suddenly over the comm... with the universal soldiers'-code, for 'Officer-On-Deck'...

_..."BRASS!"_

The chatter quickly died.

As the commander took his time making his way to the top of the small rise before them... Trey took this time, to study his unfamiliar (and, rather dissapointing... to be honest;) new leader.

The first thing that was evident... was that their new 'general', for some reason... wore no descernable uniform. He was swathed in long, dark-colored robes... that flapped around his slight form wildly in wind. As he drew eventually drew closer, Trey nearly recoiled in horror... "He, he... he's a, a..._ CHILD!"_

Indeed, the young 'officer' appeared to be no more than an adolescent, human male. But, Trey tried to tell himself... 'looks' could be deceiving. Not every-trooper, however, shared in his optimism.

Some 'vode then whispered, over comms... "Is this some sort of kriffing _JOKE?"_

Another trooper spoke-up... and summed-up, how most of them seemed to fell inside. "Oh, that's just _kriffing GREAT!_... After all the _OSIK_ we had to go through, to get ready for combat... and our first real mission... is crawling around in the dark, looking for an unlikely arms-cache... while,_ 'BABYSITTING' _some _shabla..._ _Jedi-ling?!"_

"I _knew _I should've been a _PILOT!_", a third mystery-grunt concluded. "_Those_ lucky _barves_ get to fly with _General Skywalker... _but, who do us 'ground-pounders' get...?

"...some _Padawan,_ barely out of _swaddle-clothes!"_

The rest of the troopers, must have been in as much shocked as Trey was... because even this unsettling revalation, wasn't enough to bring on any other outright breakings of the comm-silence.

As if allowing them a moment to look him over, before he addressed them directly... the young boy (no more than seventeen, surely... Trey figured) stood atop the hill motionless, letting the growing gale blow his flowing cloak out to his side... like a battleflag, waiting to be planted.

The swirling winds shifted, and the young officer's engulfing cloak... was raised high enough for Trey to get a quick peek... at the 'warrior' beneath the 'banner'.  
And, that's when he noticed... perhaps, the oddest thing of all. The boy wore _NO ARMOR!_ Of _ANY_ kind! What kind of _BARVE_ goes into combat, without any protection? Was he insane? Were Jedi really... _THAT KRIFFING GOOD?_

And, he wasn't the only trooper to notice, obviously. At least this 'vode... was willing to give the fragile-looking Jedi some credit...

"He's sure got '_gett'se'_... I'll give him that!"

"Yes," Trey thought... "he must! Or else," he reasoned more soundly... "this mission... was just what Quay had earlier, bragged that it would be... '_cake'_.

Their new general looked nothing like any of his previous officers, that was for sure.

His flowing, shoulder-length hair (not GAR-regulation at all... poor Oni, Trey joked)... was almost the same color as a clones'. Only... with a shocking lock of pure white, along his center-left, part. His bright, blue-eyes... were of a color blue that Trey had only seen once before, during a brief break in the near-perpetual grey of the overcast, Kaminoan sky.

"It's amazing", Trey thought... "how, one little ray of light... can last through a lifetime of near-darkness."

Once Trey had finished making this revelation... the previously-mute Jedi... at last, began to speak.

"My name, is _GENERAL_... An'ador _AXLUM!",_ he announced, before declaring to the troopers boldly that; "Today, is a _GLORIOUS_ day... gentlemen! For, today... we baptize ourselves... in the immortal fires of war!"

His voice was not loud, but it was somehow still strong. Strong enough, Trey figured... to be heard by every soldier present. Even over the whipping wind, the troops near the back ranks shouldn't have had any trouble hearing their leader's instructions. "And _WE_, are about", thier officer annouced... "to show the Separatists _hordes_... that the Grand Army of the Republic, _cannot_... and _will not_... _be defeated!"_

He paused then, as if expected some kid of ovation... but ,the only response his declarations earned were...

Someone, with a voice that Trey didn't recognize... said over the comms; "Taking bets now, on which will stick... _General 'Ax'_... or, _Jedi 'LUM'?"_

Enough laughter ensued, as to encourage more sniping. Soon, the gabbing (and the betting...;) got going again, in earnest. Oblivious, the 'general' continued forth... in addressing his troops.

Then, more. "He does know... _we're_ already _in_ the army, right? Because I feel like I'm being 'recruited'! Hahaha!"

And, another.

"He sure is an excited little thing, isn't he? ya, know...it's really kinda cute! Hey, Sarge... can I keep him?" But, Oni... wasn't yet taking the bait.

A different clone, answered for him. "Sure, you can trooper!... You may have to 'shelter-break' him, though... he doesn't look like he's made it that far in his training, yet..."

As much as he wanted to join in the 'officer-grilling', Trey deciding it was probably still important, to understand the officers' orders. Even, if he was just a _boy..._ simply taking them all for '_cake_'. Regardless, Trey tried to focus in more intently... on the meaning of the little Jedi's words.

Now, if he could just make them out over every-trooper's voice on the squad-comm... doing his best (but still, decidely bad) verbal immitation... of the first Jedi they had seen.

Fortunately, only a second later... Sgt. Oni stepped in... to re-impose order.

_"Silence on comms!_ I don't want to have to explain it all to you later, now_ shut it_ and _listen!"_ The lively chatter was replaced some, at least... now, by muffled grumbling mostly. But, it was enough so that Trey, could now finally tune in... to his Jedi-commanders' orders.

"The cave behind me... is the entrance to a large tunnel system, according to our local sources. You have not yet been provided with detailed maps of the area, however, because of this..." The young Jedi held some sort of rock, or clump of ore up... in the palm his outstretched hand. Trey wondered suddenly, where the Jedi had gotten it from... when Deuce interjected... "So, was he carting that dirt around in the pocket of his... whatever you call that 'bathrobe'... all this time?"

"It is called _'uranium', _or_ 'irradium'..."_, General Axlum began explaining. Although, not exactly to Deuce's inquires... still, untimely enough... to get the snicker-ers, going again. As a result, Trey almost missed what his commander said next.

"...depending on what world it's found on." Trey wondered briefly, which of the labels the strange mineral had been referred to, here on this world... long ago, in ages past. Not that it mattered, he figured... the Jedi had already said that all of the ore had long been mined out.

Trey quickly abandoned his idle thoughts, and returned his attention to his commander's voice. Dutifully, the Jedi continued his dissertation on the unusual... and now, seemingly harmless... ore.

"Irradium, is most notably known for its difficulty to mine safely. As well as, its natural-abilities to disrupt... or, sometimes even _magnify_... the electro-magnetic currents present within certain types of low energy-fields. These unique qualities... allowed the original inhabitants of this world, to create weapons of _mass destruction_. Which they then... eventually,used to destroy themselves. Along with..." he added, with a solemn note. "_THIS_..." The Jedi waved a manicured hand around..., "their once lush, bountiful homeworld."

As if he were somehow personally injured by the actions of Ord Pardrons' ancient inhabitants, the young Knight paused a moment... perhaps, out of respect... for the long, forgotten dead. Once any indigenous ghosts of this wasted planet had, it seemed, been given proper rememberance... An'ador pressed on.

"Because the entire tunnel system is laced with it, we cannot get accurate scans to use for our mission." The General (a Pacer, Trey noticed) turned away from him, slowly walked to the other edge of the column. "This is, in fact, an ancient mining complex. It was abandoned so many centuries ago, that now... not even the locals have maps that could be of any real value to us. From this point on, you will consider this a blind reconasance mission... seek, and destroy."

"Somewhere inside," he continued, "we beleive is the Seperatist weapons cache for this entire sector. Without it, their droid armies can no longer be supported by living auxiliary... armed civilians in most cases... and the EMP launchers on our ARC-fighters and LAART/Y's can neutralize most threats here without ever having to put boots on the ground. This will drastically decrease casualties, on _both_ sides... and will help to bring about a more peacful resolution to the Seperatist threat, growing in this sector."

Their new commander seemed awfully concerned about not putting lives... _any_ lives... at risk. It was a... _'different'_... philosophy on warfare, than Trey was accustomed to. "Well", he thought, "Commander Axlum _is_ a Jedi. So, it's only natural that his ideas on how best to acheive victory, might seem odd to a simple trooper. Afterall, every Jedi was a master of warfare. While clones, like Trey... were only masters of carring out thier 'masters' orders.

Trey wondered if any other clones felt that was somehow... _WRONG_; despite all they had been taught. But then, he pushed those thoughts aside. Doubting your commanders... gets you, and your brothers, killed. That much he _did_ know... he'd seen it happen, on more than one occasion.

Duece, it seemed, also held a differing opinion from their officers'... on the conduct of war. Over the private comm, he muttered, "'Minimal loss of life'...? Where's the fun in _THAT?"_

At this point, Quays' snickering and giggling... would usually be audible over their private channel. But, now... the comms were uncharcteristically silent. Trey worried about his youngest brother, just then. Alot had happened, on their short trip from Kamoni... and he wasn't sure how well Quay was handling it all.

He'd been his usual, exuberant-self all morning. But, since they'd landed... Trey couldn't recall having heard Quay say... anything. That wasn't just _odd_... that was downright _mystifying_.  
Maybe, Trey figured... whatever Oni had said to him earlier... inbound on the Larty; had gotten thier little brother to finally settle down some.  
Or maybe, he added... it was being on the verge of combat for the first time, that had turned Quay so quite. Trey didn't know... and was unsure of wether to ask him about it. He didn't want to upset Quay, if he wasn't upset already, that is... by bothering him with questions about his sudden lack of silliness.

Just as he was hoping... that Quay would 'snap out of it', and say something 'barvy'... Trey found himself, unwittingly... providing his brother with the perfect oppourtunity.

Because... so much of Trey's attention had been on his brother's lack of enthusiasm, that he hadn't noticed their new Jedi officer... who had now come to a stop, right in front of him.

Trey stiffened.. embarrassed, and more than a little afraid. Under the gaze of an officer... however old, or young... was _no_ place any trooper wanted to be. In addition... his new commander was looking directly at him, as if he could actually _see_ into Trey's eyes... even behind his mask. It was an unsettling feeling, espescially to a clone... so used to the privacy of their personal, armored shells.

Inside his own, shiny-white plastoid universe... Trey began to sweat.

Just then... as if in answer, to Treys' previous wishes... Quay's joyful voice, finally came over the comm. With it, he offered his brother... what little aid, he could.

_"You're borked, Trey... YOU are SO BORKED! HAHHAHA!"_

'Careful what you wish for..', as the old saying goes... thought Trey, in response to his siblings 'helpful' comments.

Desperate not to appear 'caught napping', Trey scanned the Jedi-officer's face before him... looking for any clues as to how he could escape from further scrutiny. The general's mildly-curious features, however... provided no intel. And, of course... Quay showed his 'brotherly-love'... by 'flicking his ear'.

"Hey, Trey..." he proposed, over their helmet comms. "Whichever one of us, gets the most kills today... gets the others' dessert tonight, deal?"

Teetering on the verge of panic... Trey thought about throwing out a moronic, "Copy that, sir!"... in hopes the multi-use phrase could, somehow, cover his malfeasance.

Then, Deuce too, must have been intrigued by Quay's wager... and his efforts to 'help-a-brother-out'...for he offered up an affirming 'grunt'; followed by "Now, _that..._ sounds like_ my _kind of game!"

Now encouraged, Quay added another volley of 'friendly-fire'. "Yeah... C'mon, Trey... say you'll play with us! _PLEASE!_ Hehehe..."

Ever his co-pilot, Duece lobbed a supporting grenade... "_CT-3033...!_ I _order you_... to provide 'Colonel Quay'... with an answer, soldier!"

Luckily, just before stammering out his accouncmemnt of ignorance... he happened to look down...

...at the lump of blue-ish, brown dirt... sitting in his officers outstreched hand.

And Oni... _finally_, thought Trey... decided he'd had enough. "_I swear..."_, he threathened ominously... "I'll send the next one of you to speak, back to Ko Sia..." he hissed. "_In a BOX!" _

Everything stopped making noise... the troopers, the intermittent comms-static... even the kriffing _wind! __Everything..._ but the pounding of Trey's own heart, increasingly thumping against his eardrums.

Not knowing what else to do, Trey leaned forward... and tried to analyze the rock with his suits sensors. But, as he got closer to the strange ore... his helmet comms began to static... and his sensor readings fluctualted, wildly.

After watching Trey return back to stand at attention, the Jedi officer asked. "Any questions, soldier?"

Remembering what he had always been taught about the only stupid question being the one you didn't ask that gets you killed, he boldly said, "Yes, Sir! Sir, will the mineral have any effect on our armors other systems?"

His superior looked at him for a moment with something like amazement on his face. As if, the idea that these were in fact living, thinking beings had never occured to him.  
"That is a very astute question," he answered, as if speaking to a child. "No. We don't beleive so. It will, however, effect your communications... as well as, of course... rendering your sensors, useless."

"But," the Jedi assured them, confidently... "as to your suits' internal functions... such as it' cooling, optics, and life-support functions... no; it won't effect them at all."

"However," he added, as if making a point of great importance. "the dust from this mineral _IS_ toxic, in higher dosages. So remember,_ KEEP YOUR HELMETS ON!_ Even though the air will still be breathable..." General An'ador explained. "

Looking to end the exchange before anymore of the Jedis strange attention could be focused his way (and certainly not wanting to ask his general, "Well, where's _YOUR_ helmet then, sir?")...; Trey simply replied with the clone-troopers standard, catch-all answer...

This time, he actually did... pull out 'Ole' Faithful'...

_"Copy that, sir!"_

Spouting it now, Trey thought... at least, hadn't felt inside like he was just _begging_ for extra KP-duty.

Seemingly satisfied, the Jedi returned to stand at the center of the column. Again, Quays voice filled Treys ears. "Your just lucky, _'Spooky'_... you found the _one_ Jedi, who can't read minds. Or else, you'd be stuffed in a cryo-tube right now for sure, buddy. Yep... right there, next to the nerf steaks... a big, ugly _'Trey-cicle'!_ Hahaha."

Once again, Oni stepped in to re-establish order. "If you would keep _quit_, 'three-four... we just learn something that could save our lives... so _shut it!"_ Always Oni, trying to keep them focused... and _alive_... by keeping them 'on mission'.

Trey wondered if Duece and Quay knew, as he did, that to Oni... who doubled as the squads' medic, as well as its sergeant... 'the mission'; was too bring them all back alive... not, just to acheive some tactical goal. Trey figured they did... but, he doubted they understood just how 'sacred' of a mission it was to their oldest brother.

Trey shook his head in aggravation... clearing it of it's musings.

Oni was right, he needed to stay focused. Stay sharp. Not off daydreaming, or joking, or fretting about childish things. It was time to get sorted... it was time, to _'do the job'_.

Trey's little brother, however... wasn't as ready to 'buckle-down', just yet. Quay leaned forward, and nudged him in the back.

"So, Trey..." he asked again...provokingly. "Wha'do ya say... 'Top-Score' gets seconds tonight or what, _'vode?"_

Overhearing the exchange, Oni... for a moment... just shook his helmeted head, slightly. Quay, suddenly recalling Oni's earlier words... swallowed audibly , over the unit comm.

Then, 'Mr. Regulations' seemingly surrendered... and reluctantly, threw his hat in with his brothers. "Okay... fine.", he said... in agreement. "Count me in, too."

Trey heard Quay make a whispered '_YES!'_... but, couldn't fathom _why_ Quay was so excited, that their oldest sibling had actually joined in the fun. Because then, as always with 'the Sarge'... there came... the 'but'.

"_But_," Oni added, with what sounded like a smirk.

"Whoever gets the _least_ kills... _ALSO_ gets to clean _the 'fresher."_

Their sergeant may not have been happy about their desire to turn the mission into a 'sibling-rivalry'... but, he _did_ know how to motivate his men.

Quickly, the trio of brave-cavaliers of a only a short, moment ago... began doing their best imitations one of of Dagobah's native, swamp-dwelling crustaceans. Their smatterings of... "Oh, uh...", "Hold on...", and "Hey, now..."; rapidly came stuttering over the comms.

"Nope...", Oni overruled them all. "You want to play a game? Fine... that's the game. So, whats it gonna be?" He lifted his Decee and popped the charge-power switch to full.

_"In...?"_ His weapons' power-pack whined to a high pitch... ready now, to unleash it's carnage.

"...or, _out?"_

By now, Commander Ax had walked down to the base of the hill, directly to the middle of the formation... and took position at the center of entrance to the cave. Then, he took his lightsaber from his belt and raised it high above his head... unlit.

_ "NOW, FOLLOW ME...",_ he shouted, eagerly... to the group of primed-warriors, standing on the cusp of battle; before him.

The clones all lifted their Decee's, as one. Inside the privacy of his helmet, Trey's squad-comm... again, came to life.

"In", said Deuce.

"I'm in, if he's in...", from Quay.

Trey was about to excitedly chime in, but suddenly... something unsettling began to naw at Trey's attentions. Attempting to close his mind from further distraction, he persisted onwards... enthusiastically playing along, with the rest of his brothers.

"Yeah, well...", Trey added with a smile... that he hoped they felt, if un-heard. "_Any_ chance of getting to watch Deuce and Quay scrub my showershoes... then of course, I'm in!"

In response, Quay reached up and tapped him on the back of his helmet. "In that case, '_ugly_'... may the _handsomest_ clone_ win!"_

At both declarations, seemingly to Trey... thier Jedi Knight Commander, lit his raised lightsaber... like a beacon, for his men to follow.

Its radiant, golden-yellow glow... reflecting from the ring of cavern walls, all around the young Jedi... instantly surrounded him, in an awe-inspiring halo.

_"...TO VICTORY!" _

Like him, or not... if he was ready to lead them; every trooper present, confirmed... that they were ready to follow. In unison, the clone troopers all answered their commanders call... with a collective-chant of their own...

_"OYA! OYA! OYA!" _

Whether he understood the Mando battle-cry, or not... the Jedi then nodded, appropriately. Then, he turned... and, purposefully began stalking forward... into the looming cavern. The emboldening, amber glow of his lightsaber... slowly disappearing in the gloom.

"Hey, Trey...", came a whispered voice over a private comm... that his ears thought to be Deuce's.

"Yeah..?", he replied.

Deuce hesitated slightly, then swallowed... and said, "Look out for Quay, okay?" It was touching how much the big 'rock', really cared for the little 'runt'. Trey smiled.

"You got it, big brother." Seemingly satisfied, by the '_grunt_' Trey thought he'd heard... Deuces' comm-channel, fell silent again.

As Trey returned to patiently awaiting his turn to march into combat, for the very first time... his mind began to go over all of his 'pre-mission-prep'. Suddenly, he was seized by the feeling... that there was 'something'; that he hadn't paid sufficiant attention to.

Forcing himself to relax, Trey... more slowly, now... began again, a mental-review of all of his gear.

Ammo clips, cleaned and charged... _check._  
Medkit, with full health-stims... _check._  
Frag, flash, and EMP grenades... _check. _One by one, he continued down the list... to no avail.

And then, he realized what it was... that 'something'... that kept distracting him. Deep, deep inside... a long-familiar feeling, began to grow. It was the old itch... the tingle... the whisper...

The _voice._

As it steadily built within him... it warned him now, as it always did... of danger, looming near. It begged for him to turn away and run. It said to leave his duty, and his brothers behind... and get away, to safety! _"Go AWAY!"_, Trey whispered... beneath his panicking breath.

"Please, _NO!... not NOW!"_, he pleaded to his... thought, long banished... internal delusions. Trey squinted his eyes tightly shut, in concentration... and re-opened them, hopelessly searching his range-of-vision for _some_ avenue for aid, for him to urgently cling to.

Before him, the other 'vode... were confidently following forward, the now-dimmed glow... of their 'invincible' Jedi-General's, blazing war-sword.

Beside him, the next line of armored troopers... started moving obediently onwards, into the caverns entrance... marching towards their duties.

Above him, the last rays of the thin, Ord Pardron-ian winter sun... surrendered their futile fight, against the light-consuming beast... of the oncoming thunderstorm.

Inside him, the voice cried... out in doom...

"_No!_ They march now only... towards their _TOMB!"_

Trey fought _hard _against his own instincts, and struggled to not listen to the voice... even though it, had saved him so _many_ times before. Because now, it was telling him to abandon his duties... and, his brothers! To just, leave them to whatever horrible fate... that his fears were warning Trey of... awaited them!

"No..No.._NO!"_ Trey banged on the side of his helmet, attempting to banish from within it... the foul prospect of... outright, _DESERTION!_

But the voice, increasingly... continued to implore him.

_"Flee, now... FLEE! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! GO!"_

Oni, noticing his odd actions... came over Trey's helmet-comms. "You sorted, Trey?"

Desperately trying to keep his demons hidden, Trey turtly replied. "Comm-static, that's all."

"Copy that. We'll just have to deal with it, out."

His head now _aching,_ from his inner-voices intensity... Trey pushed _hard_ against its influence... just as he had been trained to do with pain, and climate. He intentionally dulled his senses to it, until he could no longer feel its maddening tingle on his skin. Or, its frantic urgings... in his ear.

And then, the voice just... disappeared. Now, left with its' absence... Trey was suddenly unsure, of what to do without it. Was it gone forever, now? Or, would it return... if he was indeed, in imminent danger? Trey decided not to worry about it, simply... because he just didn't know.

In a galaxy full of things he doubted he would _ever_ know or understand, there was he _one_ _thing_, he could find certainty in... _HAD_ to be. More now, than ever.

That, he was a clone trooper... CT-3033. And, that he would follow his orders... _AND_ his brothers... into whatever dangers lay ahead. Because, thats how clone troopers got things done...

_Together._

Now, it was his turn to join his brothers-in-arms... his '_vode'_.

Overhead, the boiling tempest... of the once-distant storm... now unleashed it's first bolt of zagged, blue-ish white lightning. The echoing _'BOOOOM!'_ that followed, caused by it's resulting thunder... re-verberated throughout Trey's body... leaving him cold, and hollow inside.

Afraid that his _'feelings_', might rush to fill the void... Trey, resolutely stepped forward... taking his rightful place amongst the massed ranks of shiny-armored soldiers, obediantly marching into the, now... ominous-looking, cave.

Blowing dusty-gusts all around them, the was storm rapidly gathering strength. The dry, electrified air... was potent now, with the release of it's fury. It's more frequent flashes, of high-voltage rage... highlighted, erratically... the scene playing out below it.

A succession of thunderous blasts, shook the ground under their feet... and sending a fine cascade of ore-laced dust, moating out from the tunnels' maw.

As, one after another... in row, upon orderly row...

...the troopers of the newly activated GAR 33rd Infantry Battalion, numbering _exactly _three-hundred and thirty-two men...

...counting, their two local 'guides'...

...followed their lone Jedi commander, blindly...

...down, into the swallowing darkness below.

**...**


	10. Chapter 10

_**...**_

_"Hey! What...?"_  
_"SHHH!"_  
_(hushed) "Hey! What... what are you still doing here?"_  
_"C'mon...in here..." (door) "I had to see you again, before I left."_  
_"I'm glad you did. Mmmm... Oh..., what is this?"_  
_"I wanted you to have it. It's mine... I mean, it's my own."_  
_"Ok... Well, thank you! But, what is it? A book?" "Sort of.. it's my journal. My personal log. It's for... you know. Just in case..."_  
_"DON'T even SAY THAT!"_  
_"It could happen. You know that."_  
_"But it WON'T!"_  
_"How do you know?"_  
_"Because, I love you. And... because you love me."_  
_"Yes. I do. But,..."_  
_"I didn't hear you say 'BUT' the last time you said, 'I do'... "_  
_"There was no doubt, then. It was my own choice. Now, that isn't so."_  
_"I know... Wait! Hold onto me, just another moment longer..."_  
_"...'until the stars all go dark'..."_  
_"...'for you, are my only light.'..."_  
_"I have to go. I love you."_  
_"I love you, too."_  
_"He-he... I'm not, 'Two'..."_  
_"Ha. Ha..."_  
_"Good-bye, my love. And, don't forget about my gift."_  
_"I won't. And, I WON'T say 'good-bye', either. Instead, I'll say, 'I'll be waiting for you, my love'..."_  
_"I like the sound of that better. Osik! I really have to go, now..."_  
_"Here, take this! And, 'riduur'... remember..."_  
_"Yes, 'riduur'?"_  
_"...the galaxy IS cruel, my love... but, surely not cruel enough to seperate us, so soon... not, after only just being so merciful... by bringing us together."_

_** -a Republic-soldier's last words... to his newly-wed bride... before going off to war-**_

**...**

**Chap10-**

** For **the next four... or, so... hours, Trey dutifully coded into his suits' data-'corder... every twist, turn, re-trace, and re-demoralizing tunnel-search... that the squad made. As they unenthusiatically explored... deeper, and deeper... the maze of, so far... completely empty, alien tunnels. All of them had, actually. It was 'S-O-P'... Standard-Operating-Procedures... for doing a 'blind-recon', such as this. It was to keep track, of the zig-zagging series of directions, that would be needed to lead others back... to anything they might happen to possibly find. As well as, to lead themselves back OUT... once there search had been completed... fruitful, or not.  
All, except for Deuce... who had also, discreetly... scratched marks along the rocky walls, at the inter-sections... as back-up, due to unforseen effects of the local EMP-barving ore.

To add to their discomfort... the squad had, for this mission... been given an additonal member. Although they had been trained to fight, all-together... the new trooper still, somehow... felt like, there was an 'outsider'... amongst them. As a result... the conversation, had been somewhat limited. Of course, it also had a little to do with the comms, too.

The native-minerals littering the old mineshafts walls, had cut comms range down to very short distances... only getting worse, the deeper into the tunnel system they went. Even up, nearer the entrance... it had been a bit staticy. Down deeper... in the bowels of the labrynth, where Trey and brothers had finally worked thier way into... anything beyond their low-light, visual-range... was nearly un-comprehendible. And, they couldn't simply, open thier armor's seals, and yell out through the air-vents... because of the 'toxic' dust in the air. Even though, Trey had to admit... there really wasn't much dust floating around down here... far below the ground-shaking claps of thunder that were going on above.

He couldn't tell exactly how HOT it was down this deep... due to his currently barrvy sensor-readings... but, he knew the temperature outside of his (thankfully!) coolant-assisted suit... was more than 'a little uncomfortable'. So much so, that he also knew... poisonous particles, or not... that he didn't want to take in a big, deep lung-full of it!

Plus, adding to the comms-issues... was the fact that, due to ALL of the many, many... uneven, and randomly-branched, side shafts... comms were also, limited to 'line-of-sight'. Under these conditions, thier commander had decided that...

"In order to conduct a proper search, and still, maintain vital squad-comms... one trooper will remain posted at the intersection of any newly-discovered shaft. The other four, will then recon the corridor... and, any new possible hiding places... discovered along the way; in two-man 'cover-teams'... always leaving one man behind, at any new tunnel entrance. Never turn a corner, without having a man to post there! That way, nobody gets cut-off... and lost!..."

At least, that was the idea. And, Trey had to admit... it had worked pretty well, so far. Although, Oni had... only a FEW times... had to call a 'halt, and re-group'; they had largely been kept together the whole time.

After coming up empty, on yet ANOTHER boring side-tunnel search... Trey, accompanied on this trip by the 'new guy'... CT-3210 (called 'Lucky', for some reason); dutifully marked the disappointing results, onto his datapad. When he was done, and had put it away... quite unexpectedly, the unfamiliar clone next to him... began to speak.

"Hey, vode... Why don't you guys, ever talk to other troopers, eh?" There was only a small hint of static because, they were walking only a few meters apart. The frankness of his question, brought Trey to a sudden stop.

"What do you mean, vode...? We talk to other troopers, all the time...", he defended both him, and his pod-mates.

"Not from what I've heard...", the other clone retorted. "You four think you're something special, that's the way I hear it...", 'Lucky' continued. "Just because," he added, in conclusion. "ALL four of you survived Kamino."

"Hey, man...if that's the way it is..." he followed, quickly; "then, I'm just glad I got stuck down here with YOU guys! I could USE some luck, for once..."

Detecting something... strange... about the unknown soldier's lament; Trey decided to investigate, to see what might be 'useful'... to know about thier new 'vode'.  
"What do you mean, 'for once'...?" Trey inquired, innocently. "If your aren't usually lucky... then why, did your squad-mates name you, 'Lucky'...?"

"They didn't.", came his darkened reply. "One of the training sergeants did...", 'Lucky' clarified. That wasn't uncommon, Trey knew... but, then again... those names usually weren't given for very flattering reasons.  
"Great.", Trey thought to himself. "Some other squads 'screw-up'. Well at least," he rationalized... "there hasn't been anything to screw-up down here... yet."

To his new comrade... he said, audibly... "Oh yeah? Which sergeant was it?"; just to make conversation. "Vau...", 'Lucky' answered. "Ahh, HIM...," Trey said... with 'subordinants-affection'. "And, why did 'Papa Strill'..." (as Trey and his brothers secretly called the unlovable beast... and the strill that followed him!) "Give you THAT name, eh? Hehe..."

"Because," came the... somewhat, static-riddled... intelligence. "I was the only one to survive... of ALL THREE of my training-squads, back on Kamino."

Trey welcomed the electronic-hiss, filling the uncomfortable silence... that now dominated the comms. Feeling he HAD to say... SOMETHING!... Trey finally managed to mutter, "I-I...I'm so.. sorry, vode. I-I..." He just left it hanging there... in the staticy-ether.

In silence, they finally emerged from the side-shaft... and rejoined Oni... one of _Trey's_ brothers. Deuce and Quay, it seemed... hadn't yet returned from their assigned scan.  
Not wanting to talk about him... not right next to him, at least... Trey kept 'Lucky's secrets to himself, for now. After they got back... he'd inform his squad, of just how 'lucky'... there new member really was. He was saved from filling any voids, however... by Oni... requesting results of thier search.

"Anything...?", he asked... hopefully. "Nope.", Trey replied... innocently. Knowing his brothers tones-of-voice very well, Oni cocked his helmet to the side as he looked back at Trey. "You sure?"  
"Affirmative, Sarge." No muss, no fuss. "Okay, then... one more down. Unknown, more...to go..."

Just then, however... from a tunnel farther down the main... came a flashing torch-light; followed rapidly by a running trooper. It was Quay. Only a few steps away before he came to a skidding halt... his excite voice, came crackling-in, over the constant comms-static. "...FOUND SOMETHING! HEY, GUYS!..."

Rushing up to his sergeant, the private nearly fell... as his poly-rubber boot-soles, slid upon the rocky, dirt-floor. Standing at quick attention, and even throwing a hastey salute... which Oni dutifully returned; Quay began to give his report... between his own gasping breaths. "Sa-uh..Sar-uh...Sargeant, sir-uh..."  
"Relax, trooper... relax." Oni intructed his subordinate. "Just, take it easy... and tell me what you've found."

"Okay, ...uh-aha... okay..." Quay could be heard swallowing, and slowly getting his wind back. It wasn't easy sprinting over uneven terrain, it took alot more out of you... and the heat, despite their armors heavily-working air-cooling systems... was still taxing. In short order, however... Quay was able to give a full report.  
"I think we found something, Sarge! Down that tunnel, a ways... There's a large room, or natural cavern... and it's full of what look like EXPLOSIVES!"

"C'mon, guys... check it out...!"

With that, Quay turned... and dashed back down into the tunnel. After giving each other, a confirming look... the other three troopers, quickly followed him.

...

"What the _KRIFF_, are _THOSE_... things?!" Inside the newly-discovered chamber, indeed... were what looked to Trey, to be explosives. But not, he puzzled... the kind the CIS would be giving to it's minions. All around the huge, sub-terrainian cavern... roughly, one-hundred by two-hundred meters wide... stood massive piles of military-grade ordinance. But, it was all EMP shells and trip-mines... not the contraband assortment of black-market munitions they were expecting to find! And, most it looked to be GAR-issue! Intended for use against the Separatists' mechanical battle-droids, not the Republic's clone-armies. They weren't even strong enough to knock-out the troopers armor, let alone cause any serious harm to the troopers inside!

The more Trey started to think about it... the more this whole mission _DID_ seem like some kind of 'readiness-exercise', afterall.

The 'things'... Quay was inquiring about; were the trio of mysterious, and _massive_, black-colored orbs... that sat at the center, of the unexpected weapons cache. Trey had tried to scan them with his siuts' sensors... but to no avail. Currently, Quay... was trying, fruitlessly... to scale one the giant, oval monoliths; in hopes of discovering something new about them, from a different point of view.

Meanwhile, Deuce was keeping himself busy, fiddling with one of the EMP-shells... him, being the squads demonitions-guy. And, Oni... was busily rushing to and fro... trying to get a comms signal.  
'Lucky', at the moment... was safely doing nothing more, than walking the perimiter of the now captured, emeny supply depot.

After his third failed attempt, Quay picked himself up... from off of the ground, where he had landed, again, in a heap. In defeat, he insisted "This stuff must have some kind of 'anti-friction' coating, or something!" "Yeah, I'm sure that's what it got.." came Deuce. "Not, just some _WERMO_... thinking he's a lizard-monkey... scratching all over it."  
"But yeah, then... what is it?" In frustration, Quay held his Decee like a club... and hammered the side of the orb. _'THUNK, THUNK, THUNK!..._' "It sounds, _hollow_..." Quay deduced, after giving it a few more 'taps'.  
About then, Oni announced in frustration... "Comms are useless down here... we have to get back, top-side... to report-in."

"Okay, squad... lets _MOVE OUT!",_ Oni ordered.  
"Hey, Sarge.. did you hear me? What I said, about the orbs...?"  
"Yes, trooper.. I copied. Hollow, and un-climbable... noted. Now, let's go!"

"Hey, Oni...", this now, from Deuce... who had moved from the bomb-casings, to standing by the cavern entrance. "I think we should leave some kind of marker, here... before the entrance."  
"Why? We have it marked on our 'recorders..."  
"I know... but, you see this..?" He remained crouched, and simply pointed... to a small device inbedded, in the rocky doorway. "It's an infra-red trip-wire... I'm thinking the ore-dust, must have interferred with it. Thats why we didn't set it off, when we entered. We were lucky..."

"Lucky", Trey mused. He looked over at the newest member of their unit. _Maybe_, he was '_Lucky_'... after all.

"Okay, tell you what..." Oni recommended. "How about we disable it, now... before we leave?"  
"Can't..." Deuce said, cancelling the plan. "I don't have the right gear, and if we try without it..."  
"Right." Oni finished up. The whole place could blow... with them, standing right outside the room. 'Lucky' then, offered up... his own, potential solution. "Why don't we just, blast it? 'Disable' it that way?"  
"Because," Deuce answered, patiently. "If you do that, it might cause an electro-static pulse to travel along the wire... firing the 'dets." "Then, _'BOOM!'_..." Trey added, for clearity. "Ya, thanks... I got it", the new-trooper responded. "Just tryin' to help..."  
"Don't worry about it...", reassured Oni. "It's just that, Quay usually covers all our 'dumb questions' quota."  
"Oh har-dy-har-har, Sarge... And you usually cover our..."  
"Alright, enough..." Oni ended the dicourse. Putting them 'back-on-track', he suggested. "We'll just have to leave them, I guess. And hope, no-one else comes along..."  
"I'll stay behind.", came Lucky's unhesitant offer. "I'll watch the bomb, to make sure it stays secured... while you guys go back, to bring proper support."  
"It's SOP, Sarge...", he added... in punctuation.  
Yes, it was... Trey understood. But, there was always room to 'wiggle'. "Okay, fine..." he stated definatively. "But, our _ORDERS_ say... _'no trooper left alone'_... so, I'll stay behind with you."  
"Thanks...vode", came Lucky's grateful reply. However, someone else... Oni; had a different plan of action. "No, Trey... Deuce; you stay here with 'Lucky'... you're the demo-expert. If anyone should stay with the ordinance, it's you." Turning to his newest charge, he gave one final command... "Just sit tight, 'Oh-One... we'll be back for you two, in no time."

With a thump to Deuce's skullcap, Oni ordered the rest of the squad to get going.

"Lets double-time it, troopers. The sooner we get comms-link, the sooner we get out of these caves... and the sooner we get back to..." Oni paused for a second, as if he were about to say something different... but then finished with, "...to the ship, and... _chow!"_

The mention of food was always a faithful motivator of soldiers... especially clones. Without another word, Trey's detail, exited the bomb-sight... and began jogging back upwards, through the long kilometers of twisting, barely-charted, mineshafts... back, to the light above.

...

"This doesn't make _any_ sense...", Lucky kept thinking to himself. "Why," he pondered... "would they rig-up a '_useless_' booby-trap?"

"Its' not", he reasoned... "like the beings planning the strategies, are stupid 'tinnies'... are they?" Unable to find any clues, as he wandered around the cavern... he finally asked his new squad-mate, 'Deuce'. (He didn't bother asking why he was called 'Deuce'... as 'Trey' had asked him, of his handle, 'Lucky'... because all of these troopers names, were simply addaptations of their number-designations.)

Then, 'Lucky' suddenly remembered a part of General Axlum's tutorial... about how certain isotopes of 'irradium', _AMPLIFIED_ EM-feilds... like the ones generated by the GAR's massive EMP-bombs. In growing realization of just what the booby-trap might really be meant to do, he asked the only other person who was present. "Hey, Deuce... you remember what the General said... about this 'urridium-stuff'..."  
"_Irraduim..."_ Deuce corrected him, without even bothering to look up. "Or, _'uranium'_ he recited from memory... "depending on where it's found. Why...?", he asked.

"Well.." Lucky began to peice his thoughts together... "Didn't he also say something about it mucking-up EM fields?"

"Yep. " Deuce confirmed. "That's why our comms don't work, remember?" Finally extracting himself, from inside the shell casing he had been bothering over... Deuce tossed aside a panel, or peice of shielding of some kind... that he had, at last... deconstructed. After watching the refuse tumble to a stop, near the base of the strange orb... Lucky continued his musings. "Yeah, but..." he pressed on.

"Didn't he also say something about it... '_amplifying_' certain EM-fields, too?"

About that time, Deuce had removed another peice of sheilding... from the jury-rigged explosive. As he pondered Lucky's words, he peeked down into the opening... that his efforts had finally exposed.

While the phrase '...amplifies certain EM-fields...' raced through his brain... searching for any important reference; his eyes came into focus, on what was hidden within the bomb.

A small, mechanical timer... was just now, flipping past _**'00:10'**_... and, _still counting down!_ As he watched the numbers change, in slow motion... the pieces of the labyrinths' puzzle, finally fell into horrifying place...

Jumping to his feet, Deuce put his hand to the side of his helmet, and screamed into the shoddy unit-comms... _"CODE-THREE, CODE-THREE! EVAC NOW! NOW! NOW!",_ he screamed... as he rushed to distance, between them... and the soon-exploding bomb.

_"OUT! OUT! OUT!"_ Sprinting towards the exit tunnel, Deuce grabbed Lucky by the collar of his armor... yanking him along behind him...

..as he ran, full-bore... out of the soon-doomed cavern.

...

Due to the cortosis laced mines... none of the troopers, got the emergency-exit order. Farther down the tunnels, Quay held his hand up, to his ear-hole... and asked of the others with him. "Did anybody hear that? I-I couldn't quite make it out.."

Trey hadn't bothered even trying to understand the comms, not this far down. It was all just a haze of fragmented static. But now, he did listen in... trying to hear what his brother found so concerning.

As he pressed his helemt closer to his ear, and straining his auditory senses for any intel... he heard instead the blasts, of the explosive charges echoing through the caves. The soundwave hit them, a few seconds before he felt the low, rumbling shock-wave follow. However, only a few pebbbles fell...and more dust, now filled the dark air... but nothing, it seemed... to bother, a clone trooper... in his GAR-issued armor.

Quay said, "Well, that wasn't so bad... was it?" He brushed off dust that had piled up on his shoulder plates... (as it had all of them, too some degree... _that_, seeming to be... the worst of the damage) It was Oni who realized first, what was about to happen next..  
"Lights Out, Boys..." said over the squad-comms. "I hope one of you remembers, the way back out of here... And, I hope we can find it... _completely_ in the dark!"

Before even Quay could answer with a wisecrack, static filled the comms... then they went out completely. Along with every other power system built into their Mark-I armor.

Its' curcuitry WAS EMP sheilded... but not against the strength off the bombs that had been rigged to blow... added to the ore that now filled the air. Even after running down several of the twisting, turning maze of former mine shafts... Treys squad had still only managed to put no more than few hundred meters distance between them and the epicenter of the nearest blast. The alien ore infused in the rocks around them, served to magnify the electromagnetic feilds of the charges pulse. Amplifying it, as it passed through the tunnels... like sound through a horn.

The sheilding of the suits never stood a chance.

That didn't seem like a coincidence... not to Oni, anyway. He reached out and put his hands on the other two with him, pulling them close. The 'clack' of helmets called the emergency squad meeting to order. With their heads together, as they had been trained... they could hear each other speaking, in quiet enough enviroments. And these tunnels, were certainly quiet enough.

"Okay, everybody... gear-check." That was Oni. "Anybody got power...? To _ANY_ systems?" The dull sound of two 'No's, came echoing through Oni's helmet.  
Raising his Decee to his faceplate, he could no longer see the red indicator-light... a sure sign, that if was dead, too. Just to be sure, he aimed it high and away, and squeezed back on the activation stud. Nothing. Not even, he discovered... from putting it up to his helmet... the cycling of it's auto-repeater cylinder.

So, even if he _did_ find good ammo... his weapon would longer fire it. He thought about throwing it aside, in disgust... however, it _was _still a usable item... for all kinds of things. And, anyway... he figured. It just felt, _familiar_... to be holding it. And right now, he needed all the comforts he had get.

"Alright, then... we know what to do..." their sergeant began. But Quay, had another idea. "We've got to go back, for Deuce!"

"Deuce is fine, Quay... relax." Oni assured their nervous brother.

"But, he was alot closer to the blast, than us! Maybe, maybe he..." Quays imagination, and his worry for his brother... had already begun, to take ahold of his logic. "Maybe, he's hurt Oni!... We've _gotta_ go back, to check on him Sarge!"

"Calm down, Quay... I'm sure Duece is just fine.", Oni re-itterated. "Even though, the ore amp'ed up the blast enough to knock out our suits... it was still just an _EMP_!"  
"It doesn't do anything to us, _remember_... only the _'tinnies'_...", their sergeant reminded him. "So, relax... okay? Besides, " he added, for good measure. "If anyone can handle it, it's Deuce... _right?"_

"...yeah, right. You're right, Sarge. I'm sorted, now. Sorry..."

With a brotherly tap, Oni confirmed all-was-well. "I'm worried about him, too... _BOTH_ of them..." Oni didn't forget his new-recruit. "But, they're both 'Troopers'... so I know, that they know... what to do." That was the good thing about being a clone trooper, Trey thought... you were trained to handle _ANYTHING_. Even being caught in an alien maze, klicks below ground... with toxin gasses and booby-traps everywhere... without working sensors or comms... _AND_, in complete darkness.

To lighten the mood, Trey reciprocated the aid, given to him earlier... by his little brother. "Ya, Quay... don't worry about Deuce." He implored. "The worst that'll happen, is that his suit is _completely_ fried... and he'll have to get a whole new set."

"_Then_," he added, teasingly. "the next time you _fart_ in his helmet, he won't be able to smell it over that _'new-armor-scent'! HAHAHA_!"

Ignoring his brothers attempted jibes, Quays voice came through the contacted helmets... on another topic of interest; at least to Quay, anyways. "So... does the _bet_ still stand?"

A quick swat on the helmet from Oni... followed by a stern 'negative' via a slow shake of his... said that the rest of THIS op, was _**B-B-B**..._  
_**B**y... (the),_  
_**B**oring(...!)_  
_**B**ook. (sigh)_

Even though Trey could not see his brother, Quays', face... he knew what he was doing. Frowning.

Quay knew their sergeants reasoning, but the genetically-enhanced competitor in him had been hungry for action... and so far, hadn't gotten any.

Trey would have to challenge him to some holo-ball, or something, when they got back to the ship... to help drain off the adrenaline; before Duece did it by daring their littlest brother to do something stupid.

Onis' voice, came in hollow... through their armored helmets. "Everybody knows the drill, right?"

"Keep your buckets on... all this extra dust, has got to be more toxic. Just, stay in physical contact... with the man in front of you... and, keep close to the walls. Tap-codes and hand-signals, until we..."

_"WAIT!",_ Quay boomed in. "Look what I found!" The darkness was suddenly banished, by a blinding red flare... coming to life. "Will_ these_ help?" In his hand, he held out about... five, or six... 'search &amp; rescue' flares.

"Okay...! Now we're talking! Kandi'osii, Quay... good job 'vode!" Trey's pride was evident... as was Quays', judging by his body-language.

"Yes, Quay... _nice going_, trooper! Now..." Oni amended, given the new circumstances. "All we need, is a map... or some way to find our way out of here."  
Turning again, to their newest clutch-player... Oni asked of Quay. "You wouldn't happen to have a way top-side, in your backpack too... would you?"

"Well, _ACTUALLY_... I _DO!"_ Quay declared triumphantly. "While the rest of us _'nerfs'_, were busy relying on our tech... big-brother Deuce, was cleverly leaving marks at the tunnel entrances, just in case... of, _THIS_!"  
He left the grouping, and walked over to a spot on the wall... and with his lit flare, he pointed out a _'Deuce-sign' _(a roughly etched 'II', graffitied into the rock). Nodding, Oni then waved him back into the fold.

"Like Sgt. Skirata always said... _'High-tech has it's uses... but, when it suddenly becomes OSIK, you'll need to know how you use your brains! Sometimes... a rock and a stick... will be all you'll have, to keep you from alive and fighting!_" Quay recited... mimicking not, there former instructor... but their brother Deuce, who was fond of quoting the scrappy little Mando.  
Trey remembered that Skirata, had always seemed to be Deuce's favorite instructor. Without really thinking, he blurted-out, in jest. "Ya, Deuce sure did like ole' _'Kal-buir'_...hehe... You know, I bet he would've made a FINE_ 'Null_...!"

_"YOU, TAKE THAT BACK!"_ In an outburst of totally unexpected anger, Quay screamed at Trey... and shoved him backwards, _hard_.

Slamming their helmets back together again... in a near _'Keldabe-kiss'_ (a Mandalorian-euphemism, for delivering a head-butt), Quay then grasped his brothers helmet tightly... and shouted into the void, at Trey again..._ "I SAID, TAKE IT BACK!"_ When Trey didn't immediately reply... (out of pure-shock, at Quays violent reaction!), Quay shoved his older sibling again... harder.

"Deuce isn't some _BARVY NULL!",_ he cried... once they had re-established contact. "Now,_ TAKE IT BACK, TREY!"_

His fists were now balled, as he leaned forward, keeping their helmet-to-helmet contact. By his voice... and his stance... he looked seriously ready to fight his older brother. If Trey didn't resend his insult, to thier non-present sibling... that is. Trey again wondered, as he often did... at the relationship between the two brothers. It was, weird. They seemed polar-opposites... and were constantly arguing about, something! But, one thing was for sure... _NO ONE_, not even Trey or Oni... could bad-mouth one, without the other immediately jumping to their defense. Deciding he should have known better, Trey extended an uh'u-si branch.

"Take it easy, Quay..."Trey said, soothingly to his offended sibling. "It was just a _joke_... c'mon, Quay... you know I didn't mean anything bad about Deuce! I'm worried about him, too... Alright?"

Seeming to think about his brothers calming words, Quay relaxed a little. "Just, don't call him a 'Null'... okay? Deuce is _not_ a _kriffing_ Null, you hear me_?"_

"Okay, little brother... okay." Having his peace-offering accepted, he know extended his guantleted hand. "Vode...?" he asked his pod-mate.

"...vode." Quay agreeably, and reciprocated... by grasping Trey's arm, and locking his grip... firmly around his brothers. Once they shared the gesture of comradery, and 'buried-bes'hem', as the Mando-saying went; then, Oni.. returned them to the task at hand. "Okay," the sergeant ordered his men. "Let's shift-it, vode..." Now, that the drama had been settled... it was time to get on with the mission.

"Alright... We stay tight, use Quay's flares, and follow Deuce's glyphs... until we see daylight, again... got it?"

A round of slapped helmets confirmed that they were all on the same page. Again, they continued their search of the caves... only now, it was to find their way... blindly; back out!

Like true-troopers, the three men formed themselves into a chain... and, following Quay's raised flare-light... they slowly began making their way, out of the alien maze. But, as they walked-on in silence... Trey began to feel, something... 'crawling'... down his back, on the inside of his armor. "Oh,_ wonderful_..." he complained... thinking maybe, that some sand... or a pebble... had fallen down from the ceiling, and found its way in there. How it got past his suits seals, he didn't know. But, either way... he would have to put up with it until he could get out of his plates... _much_, much later on.

"Our Jedi's _'cake'_...", he mumbled, sourly. "Sure tastes alot like_ 'osik'_!" Resolving to remain positive, he trekked on behind his brothers... 'watching the squads six'.

He tried to focus more, on his brothers leading back... than on the discomfort, now spreading across his own. For reasons he could never understand, he suddenly just, turned... to look back, behind them... deep into the red-flared-tinted, dusty gloom that trailed. Just as the last few times he had looked, this time... he saw nothing.  
But, no... this time... he was almost sure..._ SOMETHING_; had caught his straining eye!

He turned back, to halt the others... only to see, Oni... or rather, his white-ish armored back... slowly disappearing, along the tunnel ahead. They were too far, now.. he judged... to hear him anyway; so he decided, to quickly return his attention... to the mysterious vision, he thought he had seen... somewhere, within the near-endless darkness behind them.

Reaching into his utility-pouch, he removed... and re-lit... the nub of his last flare. Blocking it's glare with one hand... he raised it high, above his sight-line... but, again... saw nothing exposed by it's luminous blaze. So, in relief of... more than a little, frustration... Trey reaching back, for distance... and, threw the still-flaring stub... as far as his strong arm could... back down the long, inky corridor. His eyes followed the harsh, crimson, point of light... as it arched through the thick, dusty air... until it landed, and bounced a few times... before rolling to a stop, near the side of the tunnel floor.  
Trey cast a quick glance back, to see Oni... now, barely visible in the darkness ahead. Back behind him, still... his eyes revealed, nothing.

Just as is about to turn, and catch up with his brothers... he caught a glimmer, of reddish light... relfecting off of something _METALLIC_, further back down the tunnel. As he stared more deeply, to investigate his 'mirage'... he heard the steadily approaching... _'crunch-crunch-crunch'_... of battle-droid feet; just before he heard the whines, of their now-charging blasters.

Adreneline flooded him, as turned and sprinted... to warn his retreating brothers. But, as their dusty, pale images... came slowly back into Trey's focus... much too long before, he could get close enough for them, to hear his urgent cries...

...the red, lethally angry, glare of the approaching battle-driods' blaster bolts... filled the dark, toxic-dust-clouded, air.

...


	11. Oni's Log: 'Solus'

**-I guess, I've never really thought about actually **_**leaving **_**Kamino. I mean, I know I certainly **_**wanted **_**to... It meant, that we had **_**survived! **_**Also, it meant...**_**success!**_**But, it was never more to me, than the end-goal... of all the rigorous training. I suppose, I had been so focused on that... like I always do, one-foot-in-front-of-the-next...; that, I hadn't really thought much about... what came after. Or, the effect it would have... on not only me, but on the men. So many unexpected changes... so fast. We were all trained to '**_**adapt**_**'... but, to changing **_**battle-conditions**_**... to the ebb, and flow... of **_**combat! **_**Now, I'm beginning to wonder if, despite all of our extensive training... we were never really prepared for what it would truly be like...**

**Out here, in the **_**real **_**galaxy...**

**...in the vast, empty space... and long, slow hours... between battlefields.-**

**CT-3031, Sergeant- 'Oni'**

...

**__'Su'cuy'_ (15 standard hours, after 'Sullust Star's departure from Kamino...)_**

I've never written a private journal, or log, before... so, I'm not sure what is appropriate. I just feel that it may be important, to someone... someday; to know not only _where_ we were created, or_what_ we were ordered to do... but, _WHO_ _WE ARE_.

Who _I_ am. My numerical designation is CT-3031. My name... given to me by my brothers... is, 'Oni'. I am a Sergeant, in the Grand Army of the Republic.

And, I am a clone.

But, that isn't _all_ that I am. I am also a soldier, a medic, a brother... a _man_. I'm not a 'wet-droid', as I have been called. If I were, perhaps... things would be simpler. But then, I don't suppose growing up is easy for ANY beings. Much less, for those like me... engineered to age twice as fast. Physically, anyway. Mentally, however... Sometimes, I feel like the most advanced weapon of war ever created...! Being driven, by a child. Technically, I... and my brothers... have only recently turned ten years old...

We are currently in-route for our first mission, aboard our new temporary-home, the 'Sullust Star'. It's over an hour after 'lights out', and I'm still awake.  
I am not asleep in my bunk, as per regs... (..or, as befitting a sergeant!) as I have been every single night of my life. Until this one.  
This is, also, the first night of my life that I have ever _not_ been on Kamino. Can I not sleep, without the constant muffled thunder of that rainy world?

I wonder... could this be effecting ALL of the men? From looking over at Deuce... soundly snoring, on his bunk next to mine... it wouldn't seem so. (Its just the two of us, in a ship's state-room... _all_ to ourselves! Plus, Trey and Quay are right next door! In their own, two-trooper cabin... As a sergeant, I know, I should feel bad... about the other men... the ones bunked-out altogether, down in the storage, or hanger sections... but this, as Quays' 'Lance Lightspeed' would say... is _STELLAR_!)  
Anyway... could, having been trained exclusively on Kamino somehow also 'trained' us... to equate hearing those turbulent, atmospheric-clashes, with some subliminal signal for sleep?  
Again, Deuce's snoring at least confirms that not all Kaminoan clones... 'can't sleep, without the rain'.

Maybe, I'm... could I be... '_homesick'?_ For _KAMINO?_

No way... I _hate_ that place! And I'll never go back. _EVER!_ Unless, I'm ordered to assault it... that would be a nice '_homecoming_'... heh.  
But, no... the lack of constant background noise, can't have effected us this way. The training sergeants would have accounted for that. It must be something else... but what?

All of the men have been checked on, twice.  
There are no standing emergency orders... in fact, for the first time in our lives... we're actually on '_STAND DOWN'!_  
Other than basic security patrols... (and, most of those are completely unnecessary... I just do it to keep the men busy... for discipline.)  
There is nothing for us to , until we reach ###########... anyways. After that, I don't know. Nobody onboard does... not, from what I've been able to find out.

Maybe, that's what's bugging me... just, not knowing. I mean, I've 'not known' things before... like, what _exactly_... was on the training schedule. Or, what was on the menu for chow...

Or, whether me... or my brothers... were going to be alive, come the following moment. But this, 'not knowing'... _eats_ at me.

And, there are other things...  
Although, nothing is obviously out-of-place here, onboard our transport ship (some re-tasked old bulk-freighter named 'Sullust Star'... I don't know why), I keep getting the feeling... like one of Trey's 'feelings' I guess...; that there are _alot_ of things, that we were _never_ trained to properly handle... out here.

The ships 'crew', for example...

_'Pirates'_ is what they look more like to me... than actual, military officers! So far as I am aware, no harsh words or insults have been levied towards the men by any of the crew, but...

I don't like the way they stare at us. The way, some of them _seem_ to be friendly... a little _too_ friendly.  
Within minutes of leaving Kamino, several troopers had to be separated from... or, returned from leaving with... some of these overtly 'friendly' _officers_. One trooper (_NOT_ one of _MY_ men, this time... I'll _HAVE_ to watch Quay!...sigh); even had to be rushed to medical... for ingesting _GLITTERSTIM!_  
Drugs that, he had illegally 'purchased'..._BY TRADING HIS DECEE SCOPE!_  
He still wasn't been able to identify who he got the drugs, or gave his kit, to. Currently, he's still strapped to a bed, in med-bay. His sergeant (my bud, 'Salt'... he_loves_ the stuff!), said he'll let me know what happens. But, just the thought...!  
Yes. I'm going to have to keep a _very_ close eye on 'lil bro', here! I hope Trey will help me out. I can't trust Deuce to do it... that's for sure! For_some_ reason, Deuce will only _encourage_ the little barve!

I have to admit... here, to these pages... and, to myself; that I am no longer as sure that our training has been as thorough, as I had always believed it to be... even just a few, short hours ago. But, I have stay sharp. I have to keep my men focused. As hard as keeping them all alive on Kamino was, I get the feeling... things are only going to get more complicated from here on.

That's why, no matter what... my _first_ duty is always to protect _them_. I _cannot_ allow doubts to creep their way into their minds... or, allow the men to become distracted... not now. On Kamino, I was _so_ sure... that the men could handle _any_ occurred situations, or threats...

Hmph... I'll bet, according to them... 'threaten' them... is _ALL_ I do!

I often wonder... like I do now...  
If, they really think I enjoy being... such a 'rancor', all the time? Or, being _'Mr. Regulations'_... as I _KNOW_ they call me behind my back!

Or, do they know... how I _honestly_ feel about them?

_Quay..._  
Sometimes, when I close my eyes... I see him; leaning over some type of lighted table... drawing those holo-comics he loves so much, onto giant sheets of flimsi. A huge smile, upon his excited... obviously aged, face. I don't know where the image comes from... but, it leaves me feeling hopeful that... I will see it for real, someday.

_Deuce..._  
I don't know what else Deuce would be, if not a soldier. If he has any other interests, he does a good job of keeping them secret... even from me! As a brother, none could be better. One day, like Quay... I hope to see Deuce live a long, fruitful life... far beyond the calls of battle, or duty. His unusual insights would probably make him a fine scientist... or even, a political leader. So much remains hidden within him, I suspect... just below the surface.

And lastly, _Trey..._  
...is sometimes a _COMPLETE KRIFFING_ mystery, to me! And, those '_instincts_' of his... Deuce has it right, the stuff I've seen him do... it's, _'spooky'_.  
I mean, every soldier (who lives past his few battles), developes a 'sharpened awareness'. But, Trey... sometimes, he scares me... the way he seems to _know_, what's about to happen next! It's... it's not...

And, I noticed... he was acting especially odd, earlier today. Just before deployment. At first, I thought it was the 'come-down' from exercises... (he did that '_sensing_' thing then, too!)... added to the thrill, of finally going to war.  
But now, I'm not so sure... I haven't had time to talk with him about it, yet. Now, he seems to be his old, dependable self again. Maybe, I should let it be. I just don't know...

One thing I do know... I'm going to need Trey's help now, more than ever... if I'm going to have _any_ chance of keeping us all alive long enough to see my 'visions' of my brothers, have any chance of coming to pass.

...


	12. Oni's Log: 'Su'cuy'

**"Hi... I'm Deuce."**

**"Hello, _Private_... my name, is '_Lieutenant_'..."**

**"_Ouch!_ I mean, 'Yes, Ma'am!' So, ummm... why aren't you in uniform, _Lieutenant_? Off-Duty?"**

**"No, Private... I'm never Off-Duty. I'm the ships Doctor. This,_ IS_ my uniform."**

**"Oh, well then... it's a good thing we bumped into each other, Doc..."**

**"Is it...?"**

**"Yes, ma'am. I'm feeling _very_ strangely. I think I might be coming down with something..."**

**"Uh huh... And, uh... what symptoms are you currently suffering from?"**

**"Well, right now... I'm feeling kind of flush, and a little light-headed..."**

**"Hmmm... sounds serious, Private. Here, follow this light with your eyes... Ahhh..."**

**"What do you see, Doc?"**

**"...you have very pretty eyes, Private."**

**"Funny, Doc... I was thinking the same thing about you."**

**"Uh huh. And, are you feeling _hot_... now?"**

**"...you tell ma'am..."**

**"Hmmm... I don't know. You look pretty fine to me, Private..."**

**"...so do you, Doc." **

**"Well, I suppose I _should_ take a closer look at you... Come with me, Private." **

**"Yes, ma'am. And, uh... Doc...?"**

**"Yes, Private...?"**

**"...call me 'Deuce'."**

_**-CT-3032, shortly after boarding the 'Sullust Star'... seeking 'medical attention'-**_

_**...**_

**-'Solus'- (17 standard hours after 'Sullust Star's departure from Kamino...)**

** As** I was writing earlier, I heard Deuce... in his bunk, across the small cabin from mine; stir in his sleep, again. He's normally a rock after his big body hits the rack... if rocks could snore, that is. But tonight, something was interrupting his usual, immobile, slumber. A few more grunts... and groans (these, from the overly-taxed bed;) occurred, before he seemed to have finally found a more comfortable spot.  
Just as I was expecting to hear the return of his low, smooth snores... (which makes me often wonder... what kind of singing voice, does he have?); instead... he woke up, and we talked a bit.

I'm not sure why I feel I should relay our conversation in this log... but, I do. I hope Deuce doesn't mind, if he ever finds out. But, if he does... I think he'll understand. So, this is what just happened...

Deuce whispered to me, "Oni... you up?"

A sergeant's duty is never done. Besides, I figured... if I could help him out with whatever's bothering him... maybe, one of us might actually get some sleep.

"Yep...," I said, alertly. "But then, I'm always up. Now, why _you_ are awake... is the real question. What's on your mind?"

From the next set of noises, I assumed my brother had rolled over fully to face me... even though, only enough light existed to barely discern each others' silhouettes. (My data-pad screen, is light-shielded... of course)  
Still, nothing more came by way of a verbal reply. I decided it was time to change tactics, I tried the 'playful' approach...

"Come ooo-on... spit it out, wittle-bwother. What's keeping you fwom 'sweepy-wand', huh?" I had hoped, the fraturnal reference... would brought a smile to Deuce's shadowy face. As it did, mine.

(We all know we were probably removed from our common-gestation tank at the same time, but because of our assinged-enumerations... Quay had started the 'peeking-order'; as he had originally taken to calling the other three... identical clones... his 'big' brothers.'Big' meaning 'older'. "_That_ means...", Quay reminds us, often; "that I'm the _'runt'_ of the bunch!... And, that you three... have to take _extra_ care of me!")

Still, hearing no reply from Deuce... I asked, with more concern. "C'mon, big guy... you can tell me..."

He was silent for another few moments. The, he came out with it... (or, so I thought.)

"Are.. are you scared, Oni?", he asked me. "I mean, about going into action for the first time?"  
I'd never heard him mention the 'A-word'... afraid... before. Somehow, the idea of Deuce being frightened, just never crossed my mind. Suddenly, feeling a little uncertain of this new terrain... I slowly edged my way farther, into my brothers 'mental-minefield'. "Why... are you?"

"I dunno.." he quietly responded. (Neither do I, honestly. Here, now... securely aboard our new transport... I just don't yet know, what there is to BE afraid of...)  
In hopes of getting him to open up more... either, to his sergeant... or, his brother; I elaborated. "You mean... am I afraid, of _dying_?"

"No..." he clarified. "I mean, afraid of," he said, then swallowed. "...of, failing. Of, not being _good_ enough... to fulfill our missions. You know, when it _really_ counts...", he added.  
Somehow, he'd already forgotten just how 'real' the training on Kamino had been.

"No... " I tried to reassure him. "That's one thing, I have no doubts of.". I reached out to him then... mentally, as I couldn't physically touch him... and decided to tell _someone_ (and, who better than a brother?), about my own... doubts.

My fears of... _Me_.  
Of me... not being strong enough, to keep us all alive.

Of me... actually 'losing' a brother. I mean, I _have_ lost men before, in training.. but, that's... different.

The truth is..._ that_ is what I'm afraid of most. Sometimes, I'm not sure I could handle it... losing any of my true brothers. It's, like a knot... that sits inside of me, all the time. Just then, sitting and talking openly with my closest sibling...  
Right then, I wanted very much... to unravel that knot! I wanted to ask him brother for help in loosening it, by only admitting it's existence...

But, instead of adding my burdens to my already turmoiled younger brother... I remembered my duty, as his sergeant.

"Deuce... we're the best trained, best equipped, best bred soldiers the galaxy has ever seen!" I reminded him, dutifully. "Our training sergeants told us so, remember?" I added. "_AND_," I concluded for emphasis. "We _all_... _you_ and _me_, included... _SURVIVED_ Kamino! What could be tougher that that?"

I recall being told that, on multiple occasions by our trainers. That, those of us who survived our training... would be the very elite, of any warriors in the universe! And, while I couldn't think of a single thing they had ever been wrong about... I still can't escape the feeling that, when we finally do see _real_ combat... some _very_ harsh realities await us.

No... 'War', isn't going to be... 'Just Like Drill'.

"Combat is a very _fluid_ situation...", Training-Sergeant Vau had once said to me... during Non-Comm training. "You can plan all you want, but when the shooting starts... you best be able to _improvise!_ Or, you can kiss your mens' _shebs_, 'su cuy'gar'..._Sergeant!"_

I pushed aside that advice... (not thinking it would be too helpful, just then); and continued attempting to bolster Deuce's flagging confidence. "And don't forget...", I added to the darkness... as if, applying the 'coup-de-gras'...  
"We've got _Jedi Officers_, Deuce! They're _all_ military _geniuses!_", I reminded him, from rote. "And, you heard the sergeants... almost _nothing_ can bring them down! I even heard one the trainers say that, some Jedi... can even see the future! Now, with tactical intel-sources like _that_... how can we lose?"

I hope Deuce believes what I was saying, more than I do. Because, to a soldier... belief can be everything.

After a moment of contemplation, he sighed... and then, accepted it. "I guess you're right, big brother... They _did_ tell us all that, didn't they? And, that... we _are_ the best..."

"You bet your _shebs_, we are!" I confirmed. "Besides," I then added, trying to lighten his mood... "I can't let anybody blast you... I'd _never_ hear the end of it from Quay!"

"Yeah..." came his easy response. "Well, just read him the list of GAR Contingency Orders... he'll be sound alseep in no time!"

He suddenly began to laugh. Soon, I was too! "Y-yeah, b-b-but..." I struggled; "th-th-then... y-you'll have to h-hear th-them _all_ t-too!"

Between hard-fought breaths, he managed back..."Nuh-uh..."

"I-uh, I-uh, I w-won't c-care anyways..." he sputtered on. "'c-cause, b-by then... I-uh, I-uh... I'll already b-be..._ D-DEAD_!"

I don't know why that was so funny to us, just then... but it was! Is so funny now, though.. as I think about it. I guess, we just... needed _something_, to be _funny_!

Together, there... in the artificial night-gloom of an alien spacecrafts passenger berth... inbound, for our very first test of combat...

...we could no longer contain our emotions. And, for the first time in my life... I laughed! Completely out loud! (and, brazenly after curfew, no less!)

And... _unafraid_!

_Unafraid_... that we were openly breaking the 'silence after light-out' regs...

_Unafraid_... that our Mandalorian training sergeants would punish us being 'childish', 'undisciplined', or 'disobedient'...

_Unafraid_... that the Kaminoans would hear us making 'un-engineered noises'. And, then... just kriffing _decide_... that we were 'malfunctioning'... and that we required... _'Reconditioning'_.

(Even after all those years on Kamino... I still don't know, exactly what happens to clones who've been 'reconditioned'. I've heard lots of rumors, of course... but despite my best efforts, that's one secret I could never get good intel on. I suppose, only the Kaminoans...and the poor barves who get to find out, the hard way... really know for sure.)

However long we laughing aloud, like fools, I don't know...nor, will I ever check! It felt like forever... (kind of like, being under arti-fire... but in a good way!)  
No matter what I was _designed_ to do..._ I'M_ _deciding_... to remember than moment, forever... just that way!

After the tide of our mirth had ebbed... we were silent for a while, recovering from the release of such long pent-up stresses.

A few sighs later (broken by several residual giggling-fits;)... and we both seemed to have gotten it out of our systems. Then, Deuce caught me completely off guard, in characteristic Deuce-fashion...

"Hey Oni...", he asked in a curious tone. "What do you think they'll do, with all our stuff?"

"Huh? What _'stuff'_?" I couldn't make any sense of the question, at first. "And, '_who_'... are '_they_'?" I inquired.

"The Kami's, that's '_who_'...", Deuce informed. "And, our _'stuff_' is... well, you know... our '_stuff_'! Our personal belongings..."

Clones didn't have 'personal belongings'... unless, you counted the little contraband knick-knacks that some troopers manged to scavenge... and keep hidden. But, as far as I knew... Deuce didn't have any such items. 'Contraband'... was usually Quay's department.  
I sat back, and thought a moment... (still feeling a bit 'bubbly' inside... ((like my new sani-steam wash!)); before giving a response.

"Well... our 'stuff'", I reminded him. "...was loaded onto the ship, before we left. We saw it being loaded, remember?" He had come with me to inspect the units cargo, secured down in the hold, first thing after post-boarding muster.

But, that wasn't the 'stuff'... however, that Deuce was currently worried about. "_No_, not our _gear..._!", he clarified.  
More shifting noises suggested he had returned to facing me again. "You, know... our secret-stuff, back on Kamino?"

"Oh! You mean _that_ stuff! Well..." Putting my arms up behind my head, I loosed a teasing... pseudo-consolatory, sigh. "Sorry, little brother... but, _that_ stuff... has probably already been policed-up, and _incinerated_."

In the darkness, I heard Deuce's breath... haltingly catch in his chest. And then, catch and hold again... and again.

Right then, I felt like such a failure... as a leader... and, a brother! By not understanding one of my men well enough, to notice how troubled his mind was! But, to be fair... it wasn't like Deuce to be so... sentimental... about things. At least, not about things that don't shoot... or blow up.

Perplexed, I probed for more. "Why does that upset you?", I reasoned. "It's not like you to break up over stuff like that..."

"It's not that..." he stammered. Then, finally... "I-I-..." he began confessing, between suppressed sniffles. "I ha-... had a... a bad dream..."

I was completely lost.

"You had a bad dream... about our 'stuff', back on Kamino?", I asked... somewhat sarcastically. (Not, my best 'bedside manner'...)

Several more minutes of un-interrupted emotion from him, then...

"N-No... not about, that!" (he sniffled) "I-I dreamed, that... th-that, q-q-... q-Quay... d-d-_DIED_!"

His hard-fought emotions, then became a flood. All I could do, was sit here in the dark... and listen to my little brother cry. I swear... I've never felt so kriffing helpless. Being a medic, I know how to treat all kinds of battlefield injuries. But, they never taught me how to heal emotional afflictions.

"I'm sorry, Deuce..." I whispered across the darkness... feeling utterly impotent. "Is that what 'stuff', you were really asking about?", I wondered aloud. "Quay's holo-comics?"

Quay's lost holo-zines... were nothing more than a few scraps of illustrated flimsi, really. Not even enough of them, really... to tell any of the complete tales of the heroic 'Lance Lightspeed', and his endless struggle... to put right the many evils of the universe.

To most beings... the 'stuff', that all got left behind (I assume...); was just some garbage, really. Most of it, swiped from the flames of the Kaminoan incinerators. But, to a clone... who had _nothing_ to call his own...

We hadn't had time, before debarkation... to go back to our barracks. We were just handed new kit... and sent to the depot. My heart broke as I listened, to Deuce's ideas on what Quays' 'possessions' were really worth... as counted out, by his sudden tears.

Deuce's affection for our little brother is a bond that sometimes mystifies me, almost as much as Trey's 'intuitions'. The two of them seemed so different... (Quay once joked... that his and Dueces' genomes, came from opposite ends of Jango Fetts' DNA-chain!) But still, they shared a connection that went beyond the normal 'bonds-of-brotherhood'... that most soldiers shared. At times, it makes me feel 'left-out'. Trey and I are close, but... sometimes, he's like a complete stranger to me. I guess I hadn't truly understood how much our littlest sibling actually meant to Deuce, until just then. Here... so close and alone together...

I could almost feel my brothers sense of loss... stemming from his visions, of losing his vode. It was like a crushing weight that seemed to fill the empty spaces of our tiny, shared room. In my minds'-eye, (my own, being near-useless in the cabin's low light;) I could see Deuce, there on the bunk... laying on his back, with his eyes squeezed tight... fighting back his tears. Arms crossed over his frowning face, holding his pillow tightly... so no one would hear his sorrows.

(It's a pretty common habit amongst Kaminoan clones. Not just a useful trick for avoiding embarrassment, no... for a small cloned child, trying to grow up under the harsh judgment of the Kaminoan 'clone-masters'... it was a _survival_ _tool! _No weakness could be displayed there... ever!)

For a while, I could do nothing... but, hold on to the silence... and my own tears; and allow my brothers' emotions to flow.

Sometime later, the boil seemed to be ready for lancing... as Deuce's muffled wails were replaced by large sniffles and gasps. Being the unit medic, I did my best to salve my brothers wounds.

"Hey, ya know what?" I asked... my voice, laced with optimism. "There's a canteen, or shop, of some sort... on board..." (as proofed, by my new 'Duckies' shower-set! My own, 'stuff'.. I just realized!... What will happen to it, if I...)

Cocking an ear, to 'check his vitals'... I searched for any signs of change in my patients saddened condition. Duece's sobs, however continued... unabated.

"We'll get him a new one, okay?... We'll take a look around tomorrow, first chance we get.", I promised.

From what my ears, and empathy for my sibling, could tell... his slight whimpers had ceased. Now, replacing them, was a steady repetition of heavy gasps... punctuated by wet, alternating sniffles.

Deuce's 'bleeding' stubbornly persisted... so, I added more pressure to the area. "A _brand new_ one...", I emphasized. "With the _whole_ story included, this time!"

Holding an expectant pause, I listened closely for any reaction.

Soon, a clearing of his throat signaled that Deuce was ready... and again, able... to rejoin the conversation.

"Eh-eh-", a gulped swallow and a heaved breath later, he continued. "Even one with the ending, too?"

My smile held nothing but happiness, reassured that my brother... would indeed, pull through. "Whichever one has the ending you think he'll like best, little brother."

"...Okay.", at last came Deuce's nullified reply. It was immediately followed by an enthusiastic yawn, and the creaking of a straining mattress, being stretched-out upon.  
Before anything else could have a chance to pop into his head, I intentionally put forth a vigorous yawn of my own, and suggest sleepily...

"Let's get some shut-eye, big guy..."

Deuce's grunt of agreement soon gave way to his steady, slow breathing. Before long, Deuce was snoring again... soundly.

And, that's pretty well what just happened. As i look back over at him now, I hope his world is again... a safe little cocoon, of victories and glories untold... devoid of any fears, or worries.

But, as for me... I still can't sleep. Now, I keep thinking about the things I had just told my brother... to give him comfort, and confidence.

I go over and over it, in my mind... the same things that I had said to Deuce only a few moments ago. Basically, the very facts of the universe... those that,we had always been taught were true...

That- we were, each and together... the best army of soldiers ever created.  
That- no enemy in the galaxy could stand before us in battle.  
That- our cause... the defense of the Republic... was the most noble thing _any_ soldier could fight for.  
and,...  
That- our eventual Jedi officers... were infallible and invincible, masters of warfare.

The way I see it, any questions about the troopers abilities... will be answered, soon enough. As for the Jedi... and the Republic; I figure... we'll find out about, too... soon enough.

The question that's going to keep me awake (for many nights to come, I'm afraid), is the last thing I heard Deuce mumble to me... after I thought, he had already drifted off to sleep...

"Oni, tell me this...", he asked, in a drowsy voice. "If the Jedi are _so_ powerful, and wise, and all that..."

"...And, if serving the Republic, is _so_ glorious..."

"...then, _why_ do they need such a _huge_ army of clones... "

"...to go fight _their_ war for them?"

He didn't stay awake for an answer. I'm glad. Because, I can't... for the life of me... find a _single_ thing, in all of our training and instructions; to honestly say to him in answer, if he had.

I don't think I'm going to sleep at all tonight. It's only a few hours, now... until reveille, anyways.

I have the feeling that I'm going to be spending that time searching, deep within myself (i fear...fruitlessly) for answers to what, more and more... sound, to me... like _very_ good questions.

Answers that... I'm now near-convinced, as I sit here...

...might mean the difference between being able to keep my brothers alive...

...or, in leading us all blindly... straight into _dar'yaim_.

...


	13. Oni's Log: 'T'ad'

**"Look Skirata... my contract wasn't with the Jedi, or the Republic... it was with the aihwa-bait. And, your contract... was with _me!_ You accepted the job, and now... the job is over. Your creds should already be in your account. You earned them. So, go. But don't ever whine to me about what's_ not fair_ in this galaxy, Kal. So what, if these clones..._ my_ clones, mind you... are denied a 'normal' life? Quite frankly, they can all just get in line!"**  
**\- Jango Fett... to one of his _Cul'Devar_-**

**...**

**-'T'ad'- (26 standard hours after leaving Kamino...)**

** "What's** that your reading now, C-T, 3-0-3-4...?" I asked Quay, as I entered his and Trey's room. "Another one of your_ 'contraband'_ holo-comics?"  
It wasn't until then that I noticed... I hadn't heard our littlest brother make a sound while I was in the 'fresher, or since I walked into his quarters. The whole time, he'd been laying on his bunk... reading some new holo-zine. "He must really be interested in it," I figured... "because, normally... when he's reading... he can't keep his trap shut!"

Being around Quay, while he immersed himself into one of his favored illustrated adventures... was to get a virtual 'play-by-play' of the action unfolding on the pages.

Curious, I walked over to where Quay was reading on his bunk, and deftly snatched the flimsi from his hands. "Let's see here...", I declared, all 'Sgt-On-Deck'. "...what kind of insane quest", I asked him. "Is your buddy, 'Lance Lightspeed'... on this time, eh?"

Quay, suddenly looking very flush, made a quick grab to retrieve the pages... but 'his sergeant', was just a little bit quicker.

"NO!", he cried out, emphatically... then stammered on. "Sarge... umm... that's not a holo-comic. It's... uh, something-uh... else..."

Intrigued by his reaction, I pressed the issue further, by reading aloud whatever it was in my hand... that my littlest brother didn't want me to see. With a dramatic clearing of my throat, for effect... I began reciting the text on the flimsi in my hand.

"...his strong right arm held her trembling body firmly to him. At first she resisted... but soon, the feeling of is hard-muscles pressing against her... gave rise to a fire deep within. One, that she long believed... could never be rekindled. He gazed deeply into her eyes as their mouths met, and explored each others..."

Although, I'd never read one of Quay's comics... I somehow knew that _this_ story... wasn't going to end with 'Lance Lightspeed' saving the day...

"_Hey!_ What _is_ this?"

"I don't know...," Quay declared innocently. "I got it from one of the crew."

Then, Deuce's voice came booming out from the open 'fresher door. "Hey, Oni... why'd you _stop?_"

I almost blew my top! But, as angry as I was... I wasn't really angry, at Quay. I still don't know what had_ infuriated_ me so, about the scenarios being discussed in in the page's text.

Even now, hours later... I can't figure it out. But, at the time... I just raged.

"We're in-transport to our first mission! Our first _real_ mission... And, _THIS_...!", I waved the illicit collection of flimsi around wildly. "_This_... is the kind of distractions we don't need right now!"  
Finally, Deuce came fully from the 'fresher wrapped in a towel, and grabbed the offensive papers from his sergeants hand. He appeared to scan the pages with characteristic dismay, then flipped one over... and his big, brown eyes got even bigger.  
Deuce didn't startle easily, so I asked him at once... "What? What is it, 'Three-Two?"

Deuce turned the page of flimsi around, and (with that big, dumb grin of his) thrust it right up close... to within inches of my face.

"Look, Sarge...", he announced... as if, he'd discovered the secret to unlocking the galley's sweets-locker. "..._PICTURES!_"

Caught flat-footed, I just stared at the image being help up before me... mouth hanging slightly open... my head, slowly tilting sideways.

"Careful, Oni...", Quay said teasingly. "That's _definitely_ not 'GAR-Approved Reading Material' you're looking at!"

Trey... who had carefully crept up behind me, to peek over my shoulder at the 'subversive' images... joined in. "Yeah, sarge... and THOSE," he pronounced, as he reached over, and pointed... at a particular part of the dual-flimsi image, on the pages Deuce held out before me. "...sure aren't 'GAR-Issue', either!"

As if I'd been caught napping on guard duty, I sprang into action. Snatching the pages away from Deuces grasp, I crumpled them up, between my shaking hands. Without another word... because I simply couldn't trust myself to speak, just then... I stomped out of the cabin, tossing the crumpled holo-zine pages into the trash receptacle by the hatchway as I passed through.

I stood there, outside in the passageway... wondering why I had lost my cool with my brothers. Inside, I could overhear them... making fun of 'Mr Regulations'. I hate that nickname. As I asked myself, again... why a sergeant seemed destined, to be unable to connect with his men... I listened to what my 'vode'.. really thought of me...

The remaining triplets were silent for only a moment, before the snickering commenced. After only a few seconds, however, one brother put a halt to the merriment.

"Maybe Oni's right, guys." Quay said thoughtfully. "We can't let all this civie-stuff ruin our focus!"  
I thought for a hopeful moment, that just _maybe_... Quay had really bought in to what I had said. It made me wonder if Quay knew that the holomag wasn't what I had really been mad about, after all. Maybe, they really _did_ understand...! That, I'm only hard on them, because I care! For a moment, it felt good.. to be appreciated.

But then, Quay broke into his imitation 'Oni-voice'... (complete with an exaggerated version of my crossed-arm stance, I'm sure...) And, most probably... with his finger wagging around the room, as he spoke.

"This stuff will make you soft, men!... S-O-F-T (I heard him slapping his hand into his palm, to emphasize each letter). "SOFT! Just look at you, trooper...", I peeked in, around the corner of the open doorway... to see...

Quay... pretending to be _Me_... swaggered over, and push his finger into Trey's bicep. Trey gamely flexed his strong arm, contracting the muscle into sinewy-harden rock. Psuedo-Oni, however...was ever, unimpressed.

"You call _that_ a muscle, trooper?", Quay yelled imperiously. "Feels more like a stolen bread-meal roll, from the galley!" Pulling out his imaginary Rule Book, Quay continued.

"Article 3-4-b-2-s-r-5-7-x.1-3.78 CLEARLY states... that, 'NO Food Stuff shall be allowed as BODY PARTS', Trooper! Now, drop and give me three-hundred and thirty-three push-ups, Trooper! ...Now!" (I have to admit... that part _was_ pretty funny!)

Trey threw up a (rather sloppy!) salute, to 'Mr Regulations'... and began imitating the performance of his 'exercises'.

Turning to include Deuce in the fun, Quay singled-out their 'largest' sibling by pointing at him directly. "...and YOU, C-T-3-0-3-2-.05-7-6- and three-quarters...!, the next time I find you reading non-authorized, civilian-filth... or, _anything_ else... you'll each take turns, hand-pressing my skivvies!"

Our two other brothers hurriedly and made "Oh-no, no, no!..." comments, then returned to all laughing at my expense. (Personally, I didn't think it was a very good impression... but...)

Deciding that Quay'd had enough fun, Deuce walked to the wastebasket (I had to duck back into the hall quickly, out of his sight)... and pulled the few, crumpled pages from the within, and tossed them back to their previous owner.

"Here you go, little brother...", he said ruefully. "I'm not exactly sure whats goin' on in those pictures, but..."

"So far,", he concluded. "...it's the only thing in the known-galaxy, that seems to be able to shut you up!"

Quay collected together the mixed pages of his holo-zine that were scattered across his bunk. Then, he stuck his tongue out at Deuce and said, "Just for that, I'm not gonna tell you what the civies told me to _do_ with the pictures! _Ha!_"

Quay then jumped from his bunk, and dashed past Deuce... into the empty lav... slamming and locking the door behind him.

Deuce looked at the 'fresher door, then at Trey... then shook his head mockingly, and muttered...

"Sometimes, I think _one_ of us... is _adopted_."

...


	14. Oni's Log: 'Ehn'

**"Hey, you two...what are you guys doin' tonight, after lights out? Wanna go to a party?" **

** -anonymous 'Sullust Star' crewmember... to two passing GAR troopers-**

**...**

** -'Ehn'- (33 standard hours after 'Sullast Star's departure from Kamino)**

** I** tried hard not to look at the nausiating veiw of hyperspace, that dominated the ships bridge-screens. As much as I could, I kept my back to the transpara-steel. Even, if it meant staring straight down... at the tight, berbured carpet that was standard in the domain of officers. Luckily, their weren't any GAR officers on the bridge tonight. Only the OOD, and the ship's Captain... an able enough (seeming) man named Herril. A retired, local-planetary defense force lieutenant... now, ferrying GAR troops and equipment for the Republic's cause.

Odd, actually... once I had thought about it. There were always two or three on duty, even at this hour. Maybe another, somewhere... overseeing some late-shift work-party in another part of the ship. But, the lack of _this _ many officers being off-duty was irregular, at _any_ hour.

While wondering privately, if it was my duty was to investigate... or, simply enjoy the rarity of it; I caught sight of a clone in GAR fatigues, standing outside of the bridge entryway. It looked like he was waiting for someone. But, anyone with enough business to be there should announce himself... openly. Not, be lurking in the corridor. Immediately, I marched over... to interogate the mysterious hesitator, myself.

Now, it _is_ true... that all clones look basically the same... so, much so... that 'mongrel' officers may understandably have trouble telling us apart. But, not me. The closer I got, the more certain I became... of who the strange trooper might be.

"Trey?!" I asked, in whispered confusion. "What are you doing here...?"  
"Oni... Uh, I mean... Sarge..." he rushed, in something like relief. "Yea, it's me. I, uh... I need to talk to you, Oni.. _now!_"

I checked my chrono..."It's three hours past curfew, Trey..." I started in on him. "I'm sick of this! Now, get bac-"  
That's when the look on Treys face broke through enough for me to see... that something was _seriously_ bothering him. "Corporal," I said, turning to the only other GAR officer currently on the bridge with me. "Take over here, CT-3266..." I told him, flatly. "I have... something... to attend to."

A dutiful trooper... 'Nikki', he's called when off-duty; immediately nodded. "Copy that, Sergeant."

Grabbing Trey by the arm, I pulled him along after me as I hurried off of the bridge and out of the hatchway. Whatever the problem, Trey was obviously having a hard with it. To make it easier for him, we walked to the end of the passageway, for some added privacy to speak... just a talk between brothers.

Being on 'Stand-Down-Duty' had its disadvantages, I knew. I had my own 'Trey-like' feeling, that I was about to find about one of them.

I know some of the other NCO's allow their troopers to enjoy their new-found 'freedoms'... aboard this decidedly 'civilian' vessel. But, I also had a feeling... that it would only cause problems, in the end. Thats why I've tried to keep _my_ men busy... with extra watches, work details... _anything_. _Busy_ soldiers, are _disciplined_ soldiers.

_Idle_ soldiers, however...

I hurried my step some. No, I thought... Treys sudden arrival on the bridge this late, didn't bode well at all. The more time I had to think about it, the more worried I got.

Not being 'in-armor' while onboard (as per, Capt Herrill's request) also, meant the sudden loss of private comms... that all of the clones had long-come to rely on. It was their own little world... and they could talk about ANYTHING right in front of someone, without them ever even knowing you were speaking. It was a welcomed tool for lots of reasons... professional and personal matters, alike. Being without it meant going 'low-tech', and using a healthy dose of descretion. Once we were safely out of earshot, I gave Trey my full attention. "Okay now, c'mon... just, tell me what's happened."

"Oni," Trey said tenitively. "You- you need to just follow me. There's.. umm,... _something_ you need to _see_."

I let out a heavy sigh... in frustration. But by now, Treys ellusiveness had seriously concerned me. This couldn't be about just any old mischievious nonsense... I'd never seen him so worried.

Now... so was I. No more questions, then. "Okay, little brother... let's go. Show me."

I followed Trey as he urgently led us all of the way straight back to his and Quays' quarters.

I remember thinking, with 'relief' that... as long as it was contained, to within thier own cabin... _whatever_ it was... it might not be_ too_ bad.

"Maybe," I was thinking, hopefully... "we can even manage to keep it off the brass' radar." That's when Trey opened the door, and stepped aside... to reveal the scene through his cabin's door, in front of me.

What I saw inside was... difficult... to understand.

There was Quay... I assumed it was CT-3034... (it was hard to tell, at that point); standing in the middle of the room... _dancing!_

He was clad, only in the top half of his GAR armor... helmet, shoulder-plates, and all. From the waist down... he was adorned in some sort of civilian undergarment... _female_, I could only assume... due to all of the little pink frills, and sparkles decorating them. Finally, on his feet... a miss-matched pair of boots. One, GAR-issue... the other... unknown.

His normally shiny-white, plastiod plates of armor were now smeared with what looked like finger-paints. A dizzying mixture of fluorescent-neon colors... all in a wild array of unintelligible patterns and odd, foreign-looking symbols. Atop his armor-helmeted head, some sort of wig (_Jango's-shebs_... how I _dearly_ hoped, it was only a hairpeice!); stuck straight up in the air. It was bobbing from side-to-side, as Quay was continually bouncing up and down. One arm, held high... also, waving side to side. Almost, in time with the mohawk... as if to some music only he could hear.

I stood there staring at him for a few minutes, dumbfounded.

"HEY, ONI!" Quay shouted, over-loudly... when he at last noticed me standing right before him. Instead of offering any sort of military greeting, however... he yelled into my face, again. "OHH! And, _Trey! _Look-look-look...!", he cried. "Check _these_ out!"

He reached into his utility belt, and removed a handful of assorted-colored illuma-sticks... the kind used for Search &amp; Rescue operations.

Tossing some glow-sticks towards Trey and I... Quay, then took one in each of his own hands... waving them around, making 'zzzrrummm-zzrrrummm' noises. "Look, guys... We're _Jedi!"_ he declared, as he sliced his 'lightsabers' around in the air.  
Stopping suddenly, he pointed his 'glow-saber' directly at Trey. He covered his lower-face with his other hand... and announced, in an ominously deepened voice. "_Trey_...", he decried. "_I_... _am_ _your_ _brother_!" Then, without explanation... he went back swatting away whatever evil force his imagination had conjured, once more.

Trey looked to me, in utter confusion... "What?!" he asked me, dumbfounded. "What was _that_ supposed to mean? I already _know_ he's my brother!" I didn't understand it, either. But, I _did _finally began to get some idea of what was going on. I turning back to see our younger sibling... now, flying his light-sticks around like dog-fighting ARC-fighters.

"Relax, Trey..." I told him. "I think I have an idea, of what's going on here..."

Meanwhile, Quay was already on to his next 'psychedelic-adventure'. "Now, look... wave them around like this!", he explained enthusiastically. Then, Quay was sucked back, into whatever fantasy realm he was visiting.

Checking the passageway... to be sure nobody was coming along, to interupt... I secured the door behind me. After a second or two of observing our brothers ludicrus behavior, (oh, how I wish I'd made a holo of it now!)... I walked straight up to Quay, and... grabbing him by that redicules wig... angrily jerked the helmet from his head.

He hardly reacted at all.

He just continued to bounce around breathlessly, nodding to himself... and waving his hand in the air, like he just didn't care.

He didn't even make eye contact with me as I looked at him. But, now that his helmet was removed... I could tell that he was also, humming.

I took a moment to look around the room, for any obvious answers. Finding none, I turned to Trey for an explaination.

His hands flew up instantly, as if surrendering... to a charging, mother-rancor.

"I don't know whats wrong with him, Sarge.. I swear! He just... _showed up_ like _this!"_

He looked, and sounded like he was indeed innocent... at least, of knowing _exactly_ what had happened to our little brother. His concern was certainly real enough, that was evident. I could see in his eyes that... he wanted me to help his little brother, _more_ than he wanted to be held blameless for Quay's condition.

"Oni...", he pleaded. "If I knew what was wrong with him," he pointed to our gyrating brother. "I wouldn't have gone to you! Would I?"

"Oni...", Trey swore to me. "I'm serious. I _really_ don't know what happened to him! I'm worried about him. Help him, _please!_"

By then, I didn't really think Trey knew what had happened to Quay... but, the sergeant in me also figured that he still knew more than he was telling me. "Alright, Trey... alright. Fine then, just tell me... what you _DO_ know."

Trey cleared his throat, and blink a few times.

"Well, sarge...", he began. "Earlier today, at around 1400 or so, Me and Quay were coming off guard duty in the port-elevator bays. And, after... we took a shortcut, through the civie mess... to avoid having to go all the way back, through the hangerbay. So, there we were... walking along, minding our own business..."

"...and reading the GAR Field Manual, no doubt...", I added sarcastically. Trey took the barb without complaint, and pushed on with his tale.

"And, then this crewer... a human, male... walked over and asked if we wanted to... ummm", Trey hesitated again. I motioned for him to go on. After only a second, he spilled the rest.

"To a.. ah... to a _party_. A _civie party._"

For a moment, Trey forgot that he was supposed to have been the voice of reason... the one that his little brother, hadn't headed. Then he looked away, and coughed slightly. "Uh, what I mean.. is.." I interrupted him, for more important information that I wanted.

"_Where?"_

By his head, falling into his hands... I saw that he had finally accepted, that any chance of escaping _all_ punishment was gone... for both of them. "Below decks, somewhere. On one of the engineering levels.", he informed me at last. Then, quickly... "That's all I know, Sarge... honest."

I looked over at Quay... who was now, dancing with himself ...in the corner mirror.

Walking over to him, I grabbed him by the shoulder plates and spun him around... then, I yelled directly into his face.

"Trooper!" I ordered. "C-T, 3-0-3-4... _ATTENTION!"_

For a moment, it seemed that his lifetime of military training had won over. Quay shot ramrod straight, at my command... into a perfect parade ground stance.

I got close to his face, and looked closely into my brother's eyes... at the identical black-on-brown irises... the same as mine. I held Quay's helmet up, reached in, and turning-on it's light, for a closer inspection. And, as I suspected... Quays pupils refused to contract from the light. Not in the slightest.

The flourecent-white light, also had the effect of making the painted markings on Quay's armor... _glow! _Except for, where it was being smeared by the constant droplets of sweat, caused by constant, frantic movements Well, I consoled myself... at least Quay wasn't suffering from dehydration, _yet_.

"Is he going to be okay? Whats wrong with him, Sarge?" From behind me came Trey's quivering voice.

"He'll be fine." I announced, as I reached into my emergency med-case (as the units medic, I keep it on me, at _all_ times...even when 'off-duty';) and withdrew a hypo of mild sedative.

I carefully measured out an appropriate portion of the red liquid in a vial, that I had also pulled from my pack. "He's suffering from a glitterstim-overdose... but, only a mild one. I was told what to look for, a few times back on Kamino, in training." Without giving Quay any warning... I leaned down, and drove the needle _sharply_... into his left thigh.

Again, he didn't even seem to notice. He just smiled down at me, and went on dancing... palms raised to the ceiling. I rose and looked again, carefully... into his eyes.

"Quay? Hey, Quay! Quay...? It's me, Oni! Hey!..." He still didn't seem to be able to hear me, but I had to keep trying to get his attention. To keep him from going into a sudden stim-induced coma... as can happen with first time users, we were told.

"Where were you tonight, Quay?" I tried asking him. "Who were you with?" But, Quay continued to ignore me. Undaunted, I went on with my interrogation.

"Who adminstered the stims to you, Private? Who? Was it one of the ships crew?"

Although he didn't give me an answer, Quay did look me in the eye for a moment... I tried to get through, while I had a chance.

"Answer me, Trooper! Who gave you the 'stims, Quay? Who? C'mon, Quay... answer me! Give me a name, Quay... do you know who it was?"

His eyes suddenly stopped chasing his hallucinations, and focused on me for a second... so, I drove my questions home. "C'mon spit it out! Who was it, Quay? Who? Who?...WHO?!"

This time, Quay did... finally... give his sergeant, a verbal response.

_"Whooo-let-the-Jawas-ahh-oot? Who? ...who-who-who, WHO?!"_

I stepped back in confusion, trying to make sense of the strange words... and, was about to repeat my questions; when Quay, suddenly _stopped_ dancing. He stood for a moment, slightly swaying... looking like he had been on guard-duty for over a week straight. Then, his eyes rolled back in his head... and his euphoric expression drooped...

I caught him, just as he slipped into total unconsciousness.

Trey rushed forward, ready to assist me. But, I called him off... suddenly, very annoyed with him. "Relax... I said he'll be fine, didn't I?" I reminded at my brother, through clenched teeth.

"What happened to him?"

"I gave him a sed-shot... a heavy one." Placing Quays snoring body gently on the bed, I then added, acidly. "Not that you'd care, _brother!"_By the time I turned, to finally face Trey... I was _furious!_

Trey, just looked shocked. But, before he say anything in his defense, I continued raving at him. "_Y__ou_... _you_ let him go off with some _sleemo_, to a _civie bilge-party?_ _ALONE?!"_

"You left him _alone_, _Trey_... I asked _you_ to help me keep him out of trouble... and, _you_ let him go off alone. With complete _strangers!_ _Nothing_ else matters."

I knew the accusation would really hurt... a brother _never_ abandons a brother.

"No, Sarge! I'd never do that!" came his indignation-based reply to the charge. I saw his guilty conscience, welling up in his eyes... and that it was genuine, yet... it still left a very _bad_ feeling in my gut. What I call my _'sergeants-sense'_.

Then, I suddenly noticed was so obtrusively _missing_... and I quickly looked again, around the room. Then, I rushed through the common 'fresher to check my own room, next door. A moment later, I returned... more worried now, than before.

With slow purpose, I asked none-to-politely. "Trey... where is Deuce?"

He dropped his head, and muttered... "I told you, I didn't let Quay go _alone_."

"_Trey..."_, Growing more and more nervous, I dared probe further. "I asked you a question, _Private..."_ I punctuated, having _no_ qualms this time... about 'pulling-rank'. "W_here..._ is_ Deuce?"_

Squeezing his eyes shut, as if to avoid the glare from a impending explosion, Trey tilted his head and meekly answered. "In there..."

_"Where...?"_

His reluctantly opened eyes, now darted towards the 'fresher.

Having just come through there... and, _sure_ I hadn't seen our missing brother inside... or, in his and my shared cabin opposite this one; I curiously, and cautiously... re-approached the lav. But, to my puzzlement, the small room did again, appear to be empty. Except for, this time... I noticed _one_ possible place, that I hadn't checked before.

Looking at the door to the sani-streamer, my hand hovered over the release button... as I braced myself for whatever I might possibly see inside.

Swinging open the door, quickly... (like ripping off a bandage, to lessen the pain... I suppose;) I had, indeed... at last found my brother, Deuce. He was laying in a pool of his vomit, passed out cold. An empty lum-can in was in one hand, a green glowing-neon, illuma-stick... in the other. Plus, some kind of baldron of plastoid-flowers, adorned his likewise neon-decorated chestplates.

And, I noticed lastly... what looked like... _female lip-stain_... smeared all over his mouth! And, _both_ _cheeks!_

With an explosive sigh... and, without further comment, or even so much as a _glance_ at Trey... I exited the cabin as swiftly as I could... before I _totally_ lost my temper with _all of them!_

Although, I didn't quite _slam_ the door on my way out... I _did_ make sure that it's latches were _securely_ in place...

Each, with a decidely intentional... _'CLUNK'! _

Now, more than ever... I am convinced that...

...the sooner _every_ GAR trooper gets _off_ of this... _vessel_... the better!

...


	15. Oni's Log: 'Cuir'

SHIPS MESSAGEBOARD:

**TO: ALL Sullast Star Crewmembers... AND, ALL Civilian Auxiliary Staff!**  
**FROM: .LtCol. (Ret.) Calzer Herril, CAPTAIN, Sullast Star**

**ATTENTION! UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE! :**

At the insistence of our GAR clients,** for the duration of the voyage, ANY _fraternization_ **between Sullast Star crew, and** ANY GAR personnel...** is hereby** STRICTLY PROHIBITED! ANY **Sullust Star personnel, found to be in **violation** of this policy, shall have their Sullust Star service contracts** CANCELLED, IMMEDIATELY! And, ALSO...** taken into** GAR CUSTODY, **for '_**questioning'**._

**IN ADDITION, ... ALL authorized gatherings... **of three personnel, or more (particularly, on the** ENGINEERING **levels),** after 2200-MZT; **are also hereby** PROHIBITED!**

**STRICT COMPLIANCE** with these new policies,** WILL BE ENFORCED!**

Again...**until further notice,**

LtCol. (Ret.) Herril, **Captain**

**_..._**

**_-'Cuir'- (39 standard hours after 'Sullust Star's departure from Kamino)_**

**_I_** know that my last entry was only a few, short hours ago... but, I _have_ to write about what happened to me, just afterwards! If, for no other reason... just, to tell... _SOMEBODY! _(For some reason, I don't yet want my brothers to know...)

_That, THIS WAS... without a doubt... THE GREATEST...(and STRANGEST!) NIGHT OF MY LIFE!_

Okay... Now, I'm going to calmly document events... for future posterity.

After leaving Trey and Quay's room, I stood in the passageway outside my own cabin for a few, long minutes. Literally, _shaking_ with anger!

When I had finally calmed down enough, I could think of no other way to deal with it all...constructively; than to writing it all down, here. So that maybe, I could use the process of re-telling things... to get a new perspective; until I could deal with it without going balls-out _barvy_ on someone!

At worst, it might be a useful resource to have... in case further disciplinary action was forthcoming from tonight's 'unofficial-ship's-activities'. When I was done, I knew I couldn't sleep... and my tour on the bridge had already ended. I was in no hurry to report back to the Captain, anyways. If no one else had brought the _blatant_ ship's rules violations, to Captain Herril... by the time I went back on duty; then, I decided... I would tell him myself. As much as I _had_ to, anyway.

So, instead of going to bed... (or, getting Deuce cleaned-up, and out of the 'fresher... then, into his bunk!); I decided to go take a walk. Moving around always helps me think about things, for some reason.

But, as I meandered, lost in thought... around the 'Sullust Star'; I remembered the very last thing that Sgt. Vau had told me... just before he had 'tagged-on' my newly earned, sergeant's stripes (with, his_ gauntleted_ knuckles!)...

That,_ no matter what_... I, am _their_ sergeant...and thus, their _commanding_ officer. And, that _they_ will _always_ be... _MY..._ _ultimate _responsibility!

That was when I realized, that... tonight's incidents... were more about _my_ failures as a leader; than about my men's failures as soldiers. (I still, believe this is the truth!)

But, anyways..._That_ was pretty much what I was thinking... as I blindly explored the byways of this rather massive ship. Until... I looked around, and I found myself far below decks... somewhere. I walked around in a dimly-lit, durasteel maze... until I finally found a legible deck-marking. That's when I found out, that I was on one of the engineering levels.

I recalled Trey saying that the 'party' Deuce and Quay had gone to... had been down here. So, finding myself luckily in the area... I decided to look around for any evidence of such activities. Thinking perhaps, that some other troopers might still be laying about down there. Maybe, like Quay... in need of medical attention. Or, even better... some of the 'officers'... who had given my brother those stims.

Remembering the sight of him, didn't help my mood any! I began to furiously search every unlocked hatch that I could find. After checking one, non-particular passageway, after another... I entered yet another... rushing so much, that I almost walked right past a small storage-space hatch, at the beginning of the hall. Just as I started for the portal next to the half-hidden storeroom... I thought I heard... a female voice, scream! It had come from behind a small doorway, tucked away... behind a large support beam.

My first thought was to investigate... (not, out any sense of 'chivalry'... Like Quays' 'Lance Lightspeed'); but, because _whoever_ had made that noise, _might_ just be some 'stimmed-out' clones victim! Still wary of interrupting some officer, in the midst of disciplining a subordinate... I silently eased open the hatchway, to take only a hesitant peek inside...

What I saw, when I looked inside the small room was... a rather large-ish human-male, in a stained crewmembers jumpsuit-uniform... forcing himself, upon a frightened and battered alien female... who was defiantly trying to fend him off of her.

Instantly, I reclosed the door. Not out of cowardice, or fear... But, because... seeing that, there was not... in fact, any GAR troopers involved as _both_ were wearing the same 'Sullust Star' utility clothing...

That, made... whatever... was going on; a matter for the ship's Captain... definitely_ not_, a lonely GAR non-comms business!

As I struggled over what to do... inside my head... the voice of 'Mr Regulations', barked into my inner-ear... "March on, Trooper... his is _n_ot your duty, sergeant!"

Then, I 'heard' the voices of my brothers... yelling out to me, in reproach. "Oni... how could you _not _do something?!"

Behind me now, from beyond the durasteel door... came another, more frightened... cry for help. Still... I froze.

I stood there, like some kind of kriffing _droid... _torn; between what I _thought_ was my duty... and, what my brothers would _think_ of me... for abandoning someone in need. "Isn't _that_, also your duty?", they accused.

And then, lastly... another voice... this one, from some unknown quarter deep inside of me (perhaps, a remnant of Jango Fett...?); spoke up, plainly... and with firm finality.

"Oni... you will_ not_, allow this to continue."

Halting my semi-step, I turned back to the storage room hatch... and yanked it wide open.

What I saw, more completely now... was that the female, was a young Twileck (from what I knew of alien growth rates, she looked to be in her early, to mid-twenties;) cowering in one of the small chambers corners. Opposite her, the hulking form of a human male... leering down at her. One of his meaty fists was still clenched, as a threat to the woman that more violence was eminent.  
The light-blue skin around one of her eyes was rapidly purpling, and swelling up... sealing that eye shut. A thin trail of dark blue, was running down her cheek. Tears leaked down the other side of her azure face, flowing from her as yet, undamaged... wide and terrified, left eye.

The woman's good eye, turned towards the newly opened doorway... and thus, me... just before the brute before her, also realized... that someone new had just 'joined the party'. By the time he finally turned his attention from her, to me... I had already crossed the small room enough to come standing toe to toe with him. He looked at me in confusion, at first... as if he couldn't decided what type of insect I might be; then, he spat out at me.

"Well... what are you want, _CLONE?"_

Without even thinking, I answered him... by swinging my head down, directly into the sleemo's bulbous face! Hearing the expected, satisfying 'crunch'... of smashed cartilege and bone; I instinctively jabbed him in the throat with my left hand, and followed up by planting a savage front-kick... right to his unguarded mid-section. The blows sent him stumbling backwards wildly, and crashing into the pipe-covered bulkhead behind him. He was tougher than he looked, I'll give him that... because he remained standing. His eyes were watering, however... as he slumped over, gasping. And spitting bloody bone fragments from his swollen mouth, down into his collecting hand. Thick, red ocher dripped from between his fingers... the ship's artificial gravity, slowly pulling it in long strings, to pool on the floor.

He seethed in rage, as he returned to gaze up at me. "You-you!... You'll pay for this, you-you.. CLONE!" Droplets of crimson spewed from his busted lips, as he issued his threats. "I know _all _ about you... you're FREAKS!", he swore savagely. "All cloned _copies_... of that _barve_, Jango Fett!", he accused.

For some reason, every time the scum spat out the word 'clone'... I flinched.

Slowly, he began to sneak his hand up the wall beside him... towards to comms activation switch.  
Realizing this scum was trying to call for help, from some unknown quarter (perhaps, even 'unofficial')... so, I reached out, and grabbed him by his swelling face... pushing him down, all the way to the deck. Then, I began slowly... deliberately... driving the first two fingers of my hand, deep into his splitting nostrils. All the way to the middle-knuckles, just like I had been taught. The sleemo's legs started kicking in spasms, as his hands uselessly tried to pry him away from my grip. He howled like some kind of _beast..._ louder, as I continued to apply pressure to his crumbling sinuses.  
Sharply... again, 'Just Like Drill'; I hooked my thumb under his jawbone, pressing against the madible nerve there.  
Bloody bubbles blew from around the sides of my palm, as he tried to scream... but, I now held his mouth too tightly shut.

With a savage sneer, I slowly closed my fist... around his en-captured muzzle. Like a power-assisted vice, crushing a un-ripened warra nut. _Crunch_ and _juicy_, all the same time.

The sounds of his muffled struggles, bounced around the metal-walled room. His hands, continued to impotently flail against my iron-grip... adding a wet, slapping sound... to the thumping sound created by his frantically kicking boots.

My breath came in heavy pants, as I looking in down in disgust at him then... my helpless prey. I don't know what came over me, but... my vision turned completely _red!_ Like, I was looking through Sgt. Skirata's favored, Verpine night-vision scope!

The next thing I remember, was...

Looking down, into the dead man's eyes. His death-seizures had already stopped. And, I could no longer feel his useless attempts to get air, sucking wet, against the palm of my blood-slicked hand. I looked over, then... to the cowering Twileck female. Her eyes were still wide with terror. Only now, she was not staring at her former assailant... her big, shimmering, emerald eyes... were now _solidly_ focused, on _me_.

I saw myself, then... reflected back, within her obviously horrified stare. And, for the first time in my life, I felt... ashamed.

My head hung, of it's own accord... forcing me to face what I had done. To see what kind of man, I really am.

Through my shimmering gaze, the cooling corpse of... technically... my superior officer. And, in whos' blood... I was now covered. He lay there, gazing blankly up at me... in evidence, of my complete failure as a soldier.

Suddenly, while I started down into the lifeless eyes of the man I had just murdered... contemplating the ramifications of my actions, and still struggling with the raw emotions of performing them... I felt a slight touch on my back. Instinctively, I spun to face my new attacker... Only, it was the woman... silently come, somehow... to stand over, and behind me.

"A-Are you... o-okay, now?", she asked... attempting to 'break the ice', I suppose.

"Yes, ma'am." I answered, automatically.

"Wh-Who are you?", she went on.

I noticed then, the ship's emblem... sewn onto her stained jumpsuit. "Ma'am, I am CT-3031... at your service."

"No..." she said, sadly. "Don't you have a real name?" she asked, shyly. "You do...", she inquired, politely. "...don't you? Have a name?"

That was personal. I suddenly felt the desire to lie about my name... or deny having one, at all. But then, she had just watched me kill someone with my bare hands... in cold-blood. It doesn't get much more personal than that, so... I stuttered, "M-m-my brothers call me... 'O-Oni', m-ma'am."

"Oni... hmm" she repeated smoothly. "I like that. It's... unique." she said, as she tentatively inched closer. As she did, I began to feel a new kind of emotion... slowly building within me.

"I'm called 'Alura'", she purred.

Again, I felt dizzy. Not knowing what else to do, I asked lamely... "Why was he hurting you, Alura? What did he want?"

She started up at me in frank amazement. "You mean, you don't know?"

I replied, honestly. "No, I don't."

She stared me in amazement for another moment longer. Then she seemed to have come to some important realization, and her eyes... and smile, soften.

Feeling suddenly, unaccountably, self-conscious... I added. "Was he... trying to rob you?"

"Oh yes..." she confirmed, turning back, and spitting on the mans corpse. "Yes, he was. He was trying to steal something from me, alright... something precious. Something not many Twilek girls, like me... ever get the luxury of refusing."

Not certain that I wanted to know what Twilek females held so 'precious'... or, why they weren't able to usually keep for themselves... I locked onto the subject that seemed safest for me to attempt to understand.

"Why?", I asked innocently. "Why can't Twilecks refuse?"

"Because, to most beings... especially to a _hutt-une _'stim-pusher, like _him_", she spat on the dean man.. still prostrated upon the floor below.

(I looked down at him, and wondered... could _this_ be the crewer who had given Quay the drugs? The thought that he indeed, might be... made me feel a little better about killing him. A _hutt'une_, indeed! As I appreciated her proper usage of Mando lingo, Alura went on;)

"To him... someone like me, isn't really a person.", she explained, her eyes burning with bound-up fury. "I'm just... _'property'_."

Without realizing it, I dropped my eyes to my own, blood-stained hands... then heard myself whisper. "So am _I_."

Suddenly, I felt warm, salty tears began to gather along the rims of my eyelids... while my hands... trembled, uncontrollably.

Without my noticing... she moved closer. I attempted to regain control of myself, by focusing on my duty. "I-I... I, uh... h-have to report th-this...", I stuttered.

She moved closer, still. When, she brushed against me, panic shot through me...

"But, then... won't you get into trouble?", she inquired eanerstly.

An unauthorized kill was ceratinly not going to look good on my record... but, I still hoped the fact that this man was a criminal, and was assaulting a crewmember... would help things to go in my favor. She must have read in my face, however... what I knew, deep inside my chances would likely be.

Alura turned and leaned down, removing a small dagger from within the dead mans waistband. Then, without any word spoken... she very deliberately, slid its edge across his neck; creating a gash that crossed his entire throat... coating his posthumously-borrowed blade with his own thickening, cooling blood.

Afterwards, she dropped the knife beside the lifeless body... then straightened, to face me again.

"There... now, I did it." She stated simply. "I killed him, not you."

I couldn't understand why, this stranger... would risk her own life to protect mine! Protecting my brothers was all I had ever been trained to do. And, Alura... was definately NOT, one of them!

"But, why would you try to protect me?" I asked, totally confused.

"Because you protected me! Thats how the galaxy works, Oni...", she explained, simply. "At least," she amended, "that's how it _should_ work."

"Isn't that how it works?", I asked, all innocence.

"No." She admitted, sadly... as if, she understood that she might actually be 'breaking bad news' to me.

"Unfortunately, it usually doesn't.", she completed. I remained thankfully silent, so she went on. "I used to belong to a Hutt, named 'Kag'lar the Slim'. Although, he definitely wasn't 'slim'... even by Hutt standards!" She giggled, despite the pain it must have caused to her split lip. I simply gazed in wonder at her, thinking... "how could she hold fold memories... for a Hutt? Her former master, no less...!"

To fill what felt suddenly like empty air-space, I awkwardly managed. "I-I've heard Hutt's are cruel..."

"Most are...", she confirmed, albeit... still brightly. "But," she amended, "Kag'lar wasn't especially so. He rather despised those of his own kind, like _... whom he calls 'nothing more than sadistic fiends'."

I thought of my recent Kaminoan, 'owners'... and wondered about the Jedi. My next, 'masters'.

"I used to 'belong' to real monsters..." I surprisingly heard myself admitting to this, a complete stranger. "I don't really know anything, about the one's I belong to, now."

She placed her hand on-top of mine, then... and, I felt a _tingle_, run up my arm! It made me even more unsteady, the longer her touch remained.  
I could feel the heat of her... 'closeness'. It made me feel as I had only once before... while gazing up at one of Sgt. Skirata's barvy 'Nulls', as he climbed up, up, up... then, nimbly swung from... the hugh, vaulted support beams... that ran dizzyingly _high_ above Tapico City.

'Alura' then, cast me a shrewd-looking gaze, as if... assessing my worth. "If the galaxy were _really _a 'just' place... then," she stated, seemingly confident now... about, _something_. (And, looking at me... in a way that _didn't_ help my 'condition', at all!)

Before I could manage any kind of response, however... she reached back, behind her... and deactivated the rooms lights.

As I stood stuttering, and swallowing... trying desperately to clear my mind; in the absolute darkness of the small storage area... Alura, placed her soft fingers... delicately over my trembling lips.

She leaned in close against me, then... "Shhhh..." she whispered, softly into my ear.

Through the dizzying haze, and resounding rushing of blood through my ears...(as well as to... other parts); I heard the un-zipping noise of Aluras' tarnished coveralls.

Utterly flushed, and feeling more uncertain of myself than _ever_ before, I barely managed to stutter... "I-I.. we... umm... I sh-shouldn't be here..."

"Umm-hmmm..." she purred, while she continued to unwrap herself. "I mean," I tried again, to say. "Is... I-I.. I don't b-b-_belong_ here.

"I think, we are _exactly_, where we ... _belong,_ Oni..." she challenged me. My breaths were coming too fast now, and too shallow... for me to mount a respond. My knees weakened beneath me, when she wrapped her slim arms around me. Suddenly, to my amazement... I began to feel, '_stirrings_'... in parts of my anatomy that I had thought, until then... _purely_ utilitarian!

"I-I m-mean.. umm. h-here, b-be-low d-decks-s..."

Ignoring my feeble protest, she reached her hand up... and slowly ran her long, soft fingers... through my short, dark hair. Then, her hot breath... slid alluringly across my neck, and sending shivers up my spine... as she whispered.

"Tonight, Oni", she proposed, invitingly... while pressing her warm, soft body ever closer. "Lets decide, that we 'belong' only..."

She brushed her soft, moist lips against mine... then...

"To each other."

(On second thought... I've decided to keep what happened next, for myself... and _Alura_... **_ONLY!_**_)_

...


	16. Oni's Log: 'Re'turcye mhi, cyar'ika'

**"_No, sir!_ I haven't seen the sergeant, lately. Not, since this morning... at chow, sir! _Copy that_, sir... I'll inform him_ immediately_, the _instant_ I see him... _yes_,_ sir!"_**

**-a GAR trooper, on hyper-comms with GAR HQ... covering for his (mysteriously, and suddenly, _often_;) ****absentee**** sergeant-**

**...**

**-'Re'turcye mhi, cyar'ika'- (Approx. 13 standard hours after 'Sullust Star's arrival in high-orbit, above the outer-rim planet of Ord Pardron... and, approx. 3 standard days since last entry)**

** Last** night was my last night here... aboard the 'Sullust Star'. And, I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else in the entire galaxy... than, there...in your quarters... lying in bed, holding you. Sharing and enjoying not only each other... but, the absolute darkness of your cabin. Just as we have the past few, preciously brief and wonderful nights.

I know that also, in these past days... I have been somewhat... _neglecting..._ my duties, and my men. But... I cannot make myself regret having given _all_ of my attentions to only_ you! _Protecting the lives of my men, including my brothers... has always been, and _always_ _will_ be... what I consider to be, _my_ _sacred duty._

But _you_... _mhi-riduur... _have given to me now... a _reason__ to live! _A reason that is _my own_... to survive another day. Not, simply because it is my... _duty._

And _that_ is why I prepare to go now... to fight for the fortunes of others. To be... what I was created to be. What you've... have _seen_ me be. And yet, _still_ loved me.

(I don't think I've told you this, but... before the night we met, I had always been_ afraid_ of the dark! But not anymore. Not when it allows me to hold you close to me. Somehow, the absence of light seems to bring us... closer. And so now, I look forward to it, and it's promise of being with you again... all day long.

Suddenly, I just... I wanted you to know that, cyar'ika...)

_Also cyar'ika_... I, uh... _accidentally _forgot... that I had brought my data'corder with me, last night. (I was thinking of composing a poem for you, but... it sounded too silly, so...)

_Anyway,_ I... umm... I _also_ forgot... to _turn it OFF!_ When we went to bed last night, too. So, my data-'corder was _ON... ALL_ _NIGHT_, _Alura!..._

But _don't worry_, _cyar'ika!_ Once I saw this morning, what it had recorded... (just us talking, _mostly;_) I edited out all of the parts that I felt were... _inappropriate_. But, I _did_ leave _some_ parts on here... for you to re-live, and smile about... as I did. I've decided as well, to give to you this... my 'personal log'... of sorts.

It isn't very much... just a few entries, really.

I wrote it... hoping that, someday... _someone... _would read it. And, maybe... better _understand..._ the _man_ who wrote it. Now... I can't think of _anyone_ I would want to read it more than you!

So, I'm going to try and sneak away early... (perhaps, from one of the _endless_ battalion-briefings;) to deliver this 'log' to you, if I can.

If not, well... then we'll read it together, _before_ we turn out the lights... the _first_ night I'm back aboard... I promise, _cyar'ika!_

I have to go now, Alura... I _so _hope I get a chance to see you again, before I ship out! If so, then... I hope you enjoy reading about me, my beloved! Until, I return to you... and I can tell it all to you, myself... again, and again.

**(...start-playback/audio-file:'Mhi solus dhar'tome, Cyar'ika'/...)  
**...  
"I still can't _believe_ he actually _did_ it...!"  
"What do you mean? 'You can't believe we actually '_did it'_...? What '_it'_, _Cyar'ika_... do you mean?" _(giggle)_  
"_No_, not _'we'_... '_HE_'... the _captain, Cyar'ika..."_  
"_Ohhh_...I told you, I know him very well. And, that he is a good man... didn't I?"  
"Yes...yes, you did. But, is it really... you know..._ legal?"_  
"Lt. Herrill is the _CAPTAIN_... of a starship... _in space_. Out here... he _is_ 'the law'."  
_(sigh)_ "So... any regrets?"  
"Regrets? Me...? None. What about you? You're the one taking all the risks..."  
"Some things are worth _any_ risk... _you_ taught me that."  
"Yes... they are. And no... no regrets. Not for this... not for '_us_'... _ever_."  
"The future doesn't belong to 'us'... does it, Cyar'ika? And technically... neither do _we_."  
"We do, right now..."  
"Mmmm... You, _cyar'ika_... will always own my heart. No matter _who_ owns my body!"  
"Hush. No more talk like that..."  
"Okay, okay... I promise, no more."  
"Good. Now, can I ask you a question?"  
"Of course... but, do I need my armor first?"  
"Too late now, trooper..."  
_(exaggerated sigh)_ "Okay, I'm ready... fire away."  
"Are you... scared? You know... about tomorrow?"  
(_chuckle)_ "You sound like Deuce! But, no... I don't _think_ so. I'm more worried about my brothers, and rest of my men... than I am for myself."  
"I can't wait to meet them. Did you tell them, yet?"  
"No."  
"Why not? You_ ashamed of me_?" _(giggle)_  
"_NO!..._ And it's _you..._ who should be _ashamed!_ For teaching an innocent clone like me, all of those... _very _un-military... things! Hey, OUCH!"  
"That's right, pal... Having your heart is fine... but, you best not go forgetting who owns your _gett'se_ now, too...!"  
"I surrender!"  
"You better..."  
"_Hey!..."_  
"What..?"  
"...why'd you let go?"  
_(slap)_ "Barve!"  
"Barve-lover..."  
_(slap)_ "So really, when am I going to meet them? _All three_ of them!"  
"You _will!_ I'm _sorry_, cyar'ika... I just, haven't found the_ right_ time..."  
"Will there _be_ a _'right time'?"_  
"Yes."  
"Okay."  
"Wait... that's it?"  
"Uh-huh."  
"Umm... am I in trouble?"  
"_HAHAHA!_ No!... you're not in '_trouble_', sweetheart. _Hahaha_... But, you _do_ learn fast!"  
"Yeah, that's just, kind of... 'how I'm made'... _da-da-dah!"_  
"Umm, _Cyar'ika_... just out of curiosity... do _any_ of the other clones have a sense of humor? Or, is it just... _NOT_... you?"  
"Well... I said _'yes'_ to _you_, didn't I...?"  
"...And, _there_ goes that _'accelerated-learning'_ theory..." _(double-slap)_  
"Hehe-hehe... my dear, I really need to teach you how to hit someone!"  
"...and the IQ-scores fall, yet again..." _(BITE!)_  
_"OUWWW!"_  
"...you said you loved my smile, sweetie... It's your own fault, you should have seen the _teeth!_ Tsk, tsk, tsk... My prospects are dropping rapidly..."  
"If you think you can do better..."  
"_NO!_ ...no! _YOU_... my sweet cyar'ika... you are one-in-a-_million!_ I could _never_ replace you! _EVER!..."_  
"Well, _technically_... I'm number..."  
"_Nah-ah!_ Not another word! You _promised_... not tonight..."  
"I know, I know... I was only making a _joke_! You know, a joke... So, cyar'ika... just out of curiosity... do _any_ other Twileks have a sense of humor? Or, is it just... _NOT,_ _you?!"_  
(pause) "I _WILL_ bite, _again..."_  
"Then, I'll have to explain the marks..."  
"Oh, please...make a holo of that, for me...?"  
"You remind me of Quay..."  
"I can't wait to meet him. When?"  
(sigh) "When we get back, tomorrow. Okay, _'riduur'_?"  
"Mmmm... I like the sound of that! Say it to me, again..."  
"_Riduur... mhi riduur_..."  
"And, mine." _(snuggle)_ "And, then... when I finally _do_ meet them... your brothers; will we _still_ have to... '_pretend'_?"  
"_No,_ my beloved. No more _pretending._ Not around _them_, anyways. Tomorrow, the time will be right... because, then... we can tell them, _together!"_  
"Then, we'll save it for tomorrow. For now, I don't mind keeping you... _all to myself!" _(swallow) "How did _I_... a poor slave-girl... _ever_ get this _lucky_?" _(sniffle)  
_"I... was the _'lucky_' one. Meeting you was the _best_ thing that's ever happened to me!"  
"Let's not forget, my dear... when we first met, you saved me!"  
"_No, cyar'ika_... _you_ saved _ME!"_  
"...and now, the _war_ is taking you away..." _(sniffle)_ "I can't help it, I _know_ you have to... for all kinds of good reasons, but..._ I don't want you to go!"_  
(crying)  
"Hey, now... c'mon... We promised, not tonight... remember...?"  
_(muffled)_ "_No!... YOU __promised_!"  
"...yes. And now _YOU_... and _I_... are now, a part of '_WE'_... aren't _we?"_  
_(sniffles)_ "... shut up." _(more sniffles)_ "Shouldn't you be going? What time is it?"  
"_OH!..._ So, _NOW_...you want me to go! I see... You just hoped to... what?_ Use_ this soldier and kick him out after, _eh?"_  
_ (gasp!) No!..."_  
"Uh-huh...uh-huh... _now_, I see..."  
"_Stop it!_ You _know_ I don't want you to go! I just... don't want to you to get into _trouble_. I know how much 'doing your duty', means to you... It's part of what's so _good_, and _fine_ about you..."  
"Thank you, cyar'ika." (_sigh)_ "And, relax..." _(re-snuggle)_ "I won't get into any trouble, not tonight."  
"But, what about the _curfew_? _'All GAR-personel, in-bunks at...blah, blah blah...?"_  
_(relaxed sigh)_ "Don't _worry_, cyar'ika... I've got it _covered_."  
"Oh yeah, 'Smart Guy'... _how?"_  
"_Easy_... I know the guy on watch tonight."  
"_So_...?"  
"_Sooo_... if _he_ reports _me_, then _I'll_ report _him."_  
"_Ahh!_ _Shame on you!_ That's _not_ very 'sergeant-like', _is it?_ Anyway, you won't '_report'_ him... for _what_? What did he do?"  
"Oh... well..._ I_ found out that _he_, was in _violation_ of _GAR-SOP-3.2-31a... 'Dereliction-Of-Duty'_..."  
"_Wow!..._ That sounds pretty _serious_..."  
"Oh, it _is_..."  
"Well... what was he _supposed_ to be doing that he _wasn't_? Did he tell you '_why_'...?"  
"Oh, yes... I _know_ why..."  
"..._WELL_?!..."  
"_He..._ was _supposed_ to be, _on watch_... enforcing the curfew."  
"Ah-ha... _I see_. A _real_ bad boy... sounds like."  
"You have _no_ idea..."  
"_Uh-huh..._ Well, just _what..._ was such a _miscreant, _as this..._ actually_ doing... that kept him from such_ important_ duties?"  
"Lying in bed, next to _THE_... _MOST_ _beautiful_ woman in the _whole_ galaxy..."  
"Hmmm... is _that_ so?"  
"I've seen her, myself..."  
"Oh, _really_...? So, do you think she's prettier than _me?"_  
"You know... I _can't_ really be _sure_... I think, I'll have to take another look..."  
_(laugh!)"THAT's not 'LOOKING'_! _Oh,_ you really _are_ a _bad-boy!_ Hah-ha-ha! _Stop that!"_  
"You _really_ want me to...?"

"..._no..."_

**(...end/audiofile...)**

I love you, Alura! And, I look forward to picking up _this _ conversation again... as_ soon_ as I get back!

**_-Mhi solus tome... mhi solus dhar'tome... mhi me'dinui an... mhi bar'juri verde, ma'shi Alura'ika... -_**

**_Re'turcye mhi, ma'riduur... _**

**_Gar'shi, On'ika_**

...


End file.
